


Back In the Saddle - A Sheriff Dean fic

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what's the harm, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Calliope! Calliope!" Callie Dalton turned sharply, her brow furrowed equally in anger and concern. The old man halted in his tracks, his mostly-bald head hanging a little, a healthy crop of whiskers covering most of his jaw, sunken from the lack of a good majority of his teeth. "Sorry, Callie. I just got a little riled. Tanner's headed into town, and I thought you oughta know."

She sighed, her full lips pressed tightly together for a moment. "It's okay, Griz. Just please try to remember. Now just go back to what you were doing, I'll handle Mr. Tanner." Her eyes softened as she looked back at his hangdog expression. "Go on, it'll be all right, Griz." He hesitated for a second, then his head bobbed in agreement and he limped his way back to the kitchen.

Callie looked into the mirrored back bar and sighed, then straightened her shoulders. She tucked a stray strand of russet hair back in place, her long-lashed blue eyes gazing back at her from the murky depths of the mirror. She turned and took the books she had been working on to a nearby table, spreading them out and preparing to look busy when the inevitable invasion happened.

She didn't have to wait long. Charles Tanner Jr. walked through the swinging doors, his barrel chest leading the way as usual, his nose in the air as if he were sniffing for clues like a hound. His grey eyes scanned the room quickly until they came to rest on her, and she could almost feel them slide over the smooth skin of her shoulders and across the modest amount of cleavage showing at her bodice. She stifled a shudder, and looked up nonchalantly, one eyebrow raised as she greeted him.

"Evening, Chuck," she drawled casually, her eyes back on the ledgers in front of her.

"Callie," he answered, reaching her table in two long strides and pulling out a chair across from her. "I see you're wrestlin' with figures again. Why's a pretty little thing like you want to waste her time doin' that kind of thing? You'll get frown lines between those pretty blue eyes."

"Well, Chuck, I have to run my business, don't I? Strutting around with a fan and having the vapors doesn't pay the bills."

"Now, honey..." he trailed off as her icy gaze took him full on. "Callie. We've had this talk many times. You know Matthew and I were good friends, and you know he'd want me to do all I could to help you. If you'd just give in and sell to me, I could make a real go of it here. You know a woman can't run a place like this. It ain't proper, and a woman just ain't cut out for the kind of things that have to be done. You've worked hard, I know that. But a woman as beautiful as you should be a rich man's wife, have people takin' care of her, livin' the good life." His huge paw covered her hand for a moment before she pulled it back, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms.

"I really don't feel like having this discussion with you again, Chuck. This place is not for sale. I make a decent living here. And I do a damn good job of running this place."

"Oh, the hell. If I took over, those girls of yours would be making ten times the money for me as they are now for you, and I wouldn't be carrying people like old Smitty over there when you know damn well he'll never pay. You ain't running this place with no common sense, girl. Why don't you just sell, get yourself a a nice husband," he looked pointedly at her, "and stop working yourself to death."

Callie's jaw was clenched as she spoke, standing to gather the books together. "First of all - those girls don't make me a red cent. They work for me in the bar, and part of their pay is their room and board. That's it. They're good girls, and they don't need some whoremonger coming in here to pawn them off to some old diseased perverts just to make extra money for him. And a little kindness goes a long way in this world, Chuck. Smitty is a sweet old man who's had a rough life, and if he can't always afford to pay for his whiskey, then I'm happy to help out a little. None of your damn business how I run mine."

She swept the books off the table into her arms and turned, her skirts swishing around behind her, but she stopped halfway back to the bar, turning around again. "And since you were a 'good friend' of Matthew's, you know I had a damn good husband. A good man. It would take one hell of a man to take his place in my life, Chuck. You are not that man."

Chuck calmly stared back at her, his arms folded across his chest. "Someday you'll change your tune, Callie. But in the meantime, what's for dinner today?"

She rolled her eyes and continued on her way behind the bar. "Griz whipped up some beef stew. I'll send Emily out to get your order."

She placed the ledgers on their shelf behind the bar and swept out of the room into the hallway leading to the kitchen. She could hear her hired girl, Emily, talking excitedly to Griz as he worked slicing a loaf of fresh made bread. "Oh, Griz, you should see him! He's so tall, and handsome, and when he smiled at me I near fainted!"

"You're too young to be goin' on about a full-growed man like that, Miss Emily. He's probably old enough to be your papa."

"Who's old enough to be her papa?" Callie asked as she entered the room, and Emily blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Hi, Miss Callie. I was just tellin' Griz, I saw the new sheriff. He's just the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on." The sixteen-year-old closed her eyes and sighed, and Callie laughed.

"Don't you let your daddy hear you talking like that. He'll lock you up and throw away the key." Callie's smile softened her words, and Emily giggled softly as she continued to help Griz with the cooking. "Mr. Tanner would like to order some dinner. Please run out and take care of him, Emily." The girl nodded, wiping her hands on her apron, and went to fetch a cup of coffee to take along before heading out to the bar.

A few minutes later she rushed in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "Miss Callie! He's out there. The sheriff!" she whispered, and Callie raised an eyebrow.

"Well, did you see if he wanted to order?" The girl's face went blank, and Callie shook her head. "Get Mr. Tanner's order, I'll take care of the sheriff," she said, rolling her eyes a little at the teenage hormones.

She walked through the kitchen door and down the hall, brushing her hands down over the hunter green silk of her dress to make sure there weren't leftover crumbs from Griz's bread, and her hand reached for the swinging double door that opened into the bar. She caught her breath for a second, watching as the new arrival took off his Stetson, dropping it on the seat of a chair on top of his duster before running his fingers through his hair. His shoulders were about a mile across, and it took her a moment to remember to exhale. He sat down at his table, looking up just as Callie shook herself mentally and entered the room.

He rose to his feet again as she approached, tugging his vest down in place and smiling. "You must be Miss Dalton." He stuck out a hand in greeting, continuing. "Dean Winchester. I'm the new sheriff." His voice was deep and rich, smooth but with a little edge to it that made her pulse jump a little.

"Mrs. Dalton. But you can call me Callie." She smiled back, shaking his hand, hers almost swallowed up in his. "Welcome to Calvage."

"So you and your husband own this place," the sheriff stated, pulling a chair out for Callie to join him. She smiled, shaking her head.

"No, thanks, I just came to see if you'd like some dinner. We've got beef stew today, and Griz is a great cook. And I'm a widow, Sheriff Winchester. For about a year now." Then she felt a beefy arm across her shoulders as Chuck's voice butted into the conversation.

"Yes, our Miss Callie is well taken care of, Sheriff. Her late husband, God rest his soul, and I were good friends, and I see to it that she has her every need met." The sheriff watched as Callie's eyes narrowed and her lips grew tight as the big, blustery man continued talking. "Yes, sir - her every need." His hand was rubbing possessively up and down her arm, and Callie moved smoothly away, making introductions to escape his unwanted attentions.

"Chuck Tanner, this is Sheriff Dean Winchester. Sheriff, about that dinner?"

Dean tilted his head back a little, looking up at her with a knowing look in his green eyes and a slow smile on his face. "I'd love some dinner, and a slice of pie, if you've got some."

"Of course. Is apple okay?"

His smile widened, and Callie felt her stomach do a fast flip. "Apple sounds great."

"All right, then. I'll have Emily bring it right out, Sheriff."

"Dean. Please, call me Dean." His gaze held hers for a second, frank and warm. "It was nice meeting you, Callie. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

She smiled back warmly before turning to go to the kitchen, feeling Chuck's displeased glare as she left the room, the sheriff's eyes watching her the whole way.

Dean tugged back gently on the reins, bringing the bay gelding to a halt outside the cabin. Sam's poor broken-down mount was tied nearby, an old mare that had seen its better days, but they only had so much money to work with. At least until Dean got his first week's pay. He tied the horse to a post and went up the two steps onto the plank porch, his boots announcing his arrival before he even touched the door.

"Sam?" he called out as he entered, hanging his hat on a hook just inside the door.

"Yeah. In here," his brother answered, and Dean shrugged off his duster, then his vest, and headed in the direction of Sam's voice carrying the container of beef stew he had carried home, along with a fork and spoon from the sparsely furnished kitchen. He stopped in his tracks, a poorly stifled laugh escaping as his little brother turned his head to glare balefully back at him. "Shut up." He shifted uncomfortably on the pile of pillows he was perched on, his legs spread out at an awkward angle on top of the bed.

"Horseback just isn't your thing, is it, Sammy?" Dean asked, trying to tone down the amusement just a bit, but he was failing miserably. He handed the stew to Sam with a grin, listening as he complained.

"I can hardly walk. And I don't know what aches more, my balls or my ass." Dean almost choked, then gave in and let out a hoot of laughter. "If we're traveling while we're here, we're getting a damn wagon, Dean. Not everybody is built with your fucking bowlegs."

"Wow. You're cranky when your ass hurts. Fine, we'll get a wagon, just relax." Dean grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the top of the dresser and poured himself a drink, then plopped down on a chair nearby. "So, find anything else in Samuel's journal?"

"Not yet." He ate a few bites, then looked up as he chewed appreciatively. "This is pretty good."

"Yeah. The cook doesn't look like much, but he makes a damn good pie. And the owner of the place... well, you know how I feel about redheads, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. The same way you feel about blondes and brunettes."

Dean made a face. "Come on. Redheads are special, man."

"Right. Special." Sam sighed, then continued, changing the subject. "So, Samuel wanted us to come back and save his son, right?"

"Right."

"But he didn't say what got him? What did that letter say again?"

"Something about his son being used as a blood sacrifice. Sounds witchy." Dean unbuckled his gun belt and laid it on the dresser. "And it also said Samuel was asleep in bed with his wife, and they never even woke up when the boy was taken. And the doors were all locked up from the inside. When they found him, his throat was cut. They blamed a Shoshone man that lived nearby."

Sam was nodding. "Yeah, that's right. Thought it was some kind of native ritual. Which it could be, but - I agree, Dean. Sounds witchy."

"Well, tomorrow I'm heading out to talk to Samuel - at least I shouldn't have to explain much, he's met us once before. We need to find a way to protect that kid while we figure this out. We've got a week before it happens, according to Samuel's letter." Dean was pulling his boots off as he talked, then stood up and stretched his arms above his head. "After I head in to the Silver Birch for a little breakfast." He wiggled his eyebrows at his brother, who shot him another epic eye roll. "And I'll get us a wagon. Okay, tenderloin?"

"Ha ha. Funny, Dean," Sam retorted as Dean headed out to his own bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Callie enjoyed the cool morning air rushing past her as she galloped the last half-mile to town, the freedom of it all singing through her veins. She dressed in men's trousers when she rode, and tried to get into town early to avoid those who would look down their noses at her riding style and her attire. Not that most of them didn't look down on her for running the saloon, anyway. She mentally stuck out her tongue at them all as she reined her mare to a halt at the small enclosure behind the saloon.

"Good morning." Dean's voice had the same effect on her that it had the day before, and she focused on loosening the saddle cinch as she answered.

"Morning, Sheriff. What brings you to town so early?" She hoisted the saddle from the mare and onto the fence rail, and Dean raised an admiring eyebrow.

"Thought I'd see about some breakfast before I get to the business of the day. You do serve breakfast, right?"

She removed the bridle from her horse and patted it affectionately before walking out of the pen and closing the gate behind her. "Of course. Griz probably has the coffee on already. Come on in." She threw a smile over her shoulder at him, and he tied up his bay before following her into the back door, admiring the view as she walked ahead of him through the storeroom and into the kitchen.

"Morning, Griz," she said cheerfully to the old man, who was busy putting a batch of biscuits into the oven.

"Mornin', Miss Callie... Sheriff," he answered, nodding at Dean as he passed by. "You want some coffee, Sheriff?"

"I'd love some, Griz. And call me Dean." He followed her through the hall and into the bar, watching as she approached a man wielding a broom at the far end of the room.

"Smitty, thank you. Now go to the kitchen, Griz will fix you up with some coffee and a hot breakfast before you head on home, all right?"

He ducked his head in answer, muttering, "Thank you, Miss Callie," before leaning the broom against the wall and shuffling back they way they had just come.

"Does he live here?" Dean asked, and Callie smiled softly before grabbing the broom to finish picking up the previous day's sawdust, dumping it into a nearby trash bin.

"No. He just kind of ends up here some nights, and then he feels the need to help clean up." She tucked the broom and dustpan behind the bar and turned to find Dean's eyes on her, the expression on his face making her blush a little. "What?"

He looked down, a self-conscious little smile curving his lips. "Nothing. Just - it seems like you've got a soft spot for hard luck cases. It's kinda nice."

Callie tilted her head a little as he raised his head again to meet her gaze. "Seems like you might know a thing or two about that. I suppose you've dealt with a few in your line of work."

"Yeah. A few." He looked back at her until she took a deep breath and looked away, wiping her hands on a nearby bar rag.

"Well, I'd better get changed before I open up. Wouldn't want to scandalize the town by wearing pants." She smiled and headed for a door at the opposite end of the room. "I'm sure Griz will have your coffee out soon."

Dean nodded his thanks, and as she reached her office door, he spoke quietly. "Just for the record - I think you look damn good in pants." She felt color flood her cheeks as she went into the next room, closing the door behind her and leaning on it for a moment. He was stirring feelings in her, so many feelings that she didn't have time to put a label on them for the time being.

When she went back out, Dean was seated at the table with Smitty, chatting comfortably over their biscuits and gravy. His eyes lit briefly with admiration when he glanced up, but then he returned his attention to the man sitting across from him, listening intently to his tale. Callie smiled at the sight, and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee before opening the front doors.

Chuck was standing right outside, to her utter delight - just the thing she needed first thing in the morning. She took a deep breath and waved her arm to usher him in. "See, all this early mornin' rushin' around could be avoided, Callie," he muttered, then stopped dead in his tracks when he spied Dean eating breakfast at what was usually his table. "What the hell is he doin' in here before the door's even been opened?" His brows were furrowed in a thunderous frown as he turned to face her, grabbing her arm roughly. "I mean it - what the hell is he doin' here? Tell me the truth, Callie."

Fire flashed in her eyes as she straightened to her full height and jerked away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Who the hell do you think you are, Chuck Tanner?" she hissed. "Don't you march in here and start firing questions at me like I owe you an answer. If you want breakfast, go sit down. And if you don't - get out."

She turned abruptly and left the room, leaving Chuck to face the stares of Dean and Smitty. He glared at Dean and plopped down at the nearest table. Callie soon reappeared with a plate of biscuits and gravy, which she plopped down in front of him unceremoniously along with a cup of coffee, and she then turned on her heel and left the room again without another word. Chuck picked up his fork, glowering, and shoved a mouthful of the savory food in his mouth. This new sheriff was starting to be a problem. And he'd be damned if some wet-behind-the-ears lawman was going to screw with a plan that had been in motion for almost two years. He'd better watch his step. Chuck glared at the back of Dean's head one more time, then focused on devouring the rest of his breakfast.

* * *

Sam let out a sigh, looking up from the desk, his eyebrow raised. "Dean?"

"Yeah. What, Sammy?" He turned from staring through the window at the street to face his brother.

"What are we doing here? There's nothing happening. I know Cas said we could stay as long as we needed to this time, but - do you think something happened to change what... happened? You know, maybe somebody stepped on a butterfly somewhere. We've been hanging around here for a week, and the only thing going on is you're drooling over Callie Dalton."

"Butterfly? Really?"

"You know, chaos theory. Someone steps on a butterfly somewhere and changes the whole track of history?"

"I know what the butterfly effect is, you giant nerd. I just think we got here a little early, that's all. And I think we should give it a few more days before we just give up. Okay?" Sam met his brother's eyes, staring back at him silently for a couple of seconds before nodding. "Besides, Sammy - you're finally getting the hang of horses." Dean grinned at the eye roll directed his way, and grabbed his Stetson from the hook. "C'mon, let's head over to the Silver Birch - I'm starved."

"Yeah. You're starved all right," Sam said with a sarcastic smile, standing up to grab his own hat from the chair he'd tossed it on.

Sam and Dean walked through the double doors of the saloon, nodding to Smitty, and Dean winked at Emily, who blushed prettily and scurried off in the direction of the kitchen. He sat down, removing his hat, and looked up to meet the baleful stare of Chuck Tanner. He nodded, said, "Morning, Chuck," and turned his attention to Callie, who was heading their direction, a welcoming smile on her face.

"Well, if it isn't the Winchester brothers." She set two steaming mugs of coffee on the table in front of them before continuing. "You get all settled in over at your new office?"

"Yeah. Nothing much going on yet, but we've got to make the rounds to Hartville and Sunrise today. See if anything's going on there. Don't let Smitty get out of hand today, we'll be gone for a while," Dean said, grinning as Smitty looked up with wide eyes, then smiled at Dean's expression.

"Awww, Sheriff, I ain't gonna cause no trouble," he laughed, shaking his head as he turned back to the repair of a chair he was doing for Callie.

"I know, man, I'm just kidding. You keep your eye on things around here, though, all right?"

"You got my word, Sheriff." He nodded at Sam as well. "Deputy."

"'Bout time you got around to doing your job, Sheriff." Dean's smile faded a little as he looked up to see Chuck standing near the table. "Seems to me you spend a little too much time in one place for a lawman who's s'posed to be coverin' three towns. Folks were beginnin' to wonder what you were hired for."

Dean leaned back in his chair, his long legs sprawled, an insolent look in his eyes. "Well, I'm sure you set them straight. Right, Chuck?"

The big man just frowned a little deeper, then turned and left the saloon. Dean looked at Sam, an exaggerated look of concern on his face. "Sam, I get the feeling Chuck just doesn't care for me. Do you get that feeling?"

Sam smirked. "Yeah, Dean. I did kinda pick up on that."

Callie smiled, shaking her head. "Did you two want breakfast?" Dean turned a dazzling smile her way, and she caught herself just before she took a reeling step back. Damn it, that man's smile was just - devastating. But she held her ground, staring down at him, her eyes sparkling back at the challenge in his. He reached for her hand, giving it a little squeeze, and ordered their food, his thumb rubbing softly over her fingers before she pulled slowly back. "I'll get Griz going on your order. I'm sure you've got work to do," she said as she turned to walk away, feeling a little dazed.

* * *

It was the next evening before they wearily entered their temporary home, kicking off boots and dropping gun belts along the way. Dean plopped down on a kitchen chair, tossing his hat onto the table and running his fingers roughly through his hair. "Well, Sammy, I guess we're staying."

Sam sat in the chair across the table from his brother, sighing. "Yeah." He rubbed his hand over his face, his mouth tight. "So, how old do you think that kid was?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Ten, maybe?" His jaw worked as he looked up to meet Sam's somber gaze. "Whatever this is, whoever it is - we're ganking their ass. Kids? Damn it. What kind of sick fuck cuts a kid's throat?" He shook his head again, standing and turning to the wood stove behind him. "I'm gonna start a fire, heat up some water so we can wash up. Then I'm going to bed."

The next morning the brothers walked quietly into the Silver Birch. For once, Chuck wasn't sitting there glaring back at them, and Callie was nowhere in sight, but Emily's eyes widened and her cheeks colored as they nodded her way, and she disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

"Well, good morning." Callie smiled in greeting as she approached their table, but the smile faded a little at their subdued smiles and mumbled answers. "Is everything all right?" she asked in concern, and the solemnity in Dean's usually lively green eyes sparked a dread in the pit of her stomach. "What happened?"

Dean pulled out a chair as he answered quietly with a question. "Do you know the Larsons from Hartville?" Callie nodded slowly, and he continued. "Their son, Thomas, was found dead. Murdered."

Callie's eyes widened as she sat down on the offered chair, shock registering on her features, her fingers gripping the table's edge. "He's just - was - just a boy. Only ten or eleven. What kind of monster would murder a child?"

"I guess that's what we're gonna have to find out." Callie blinked tears from her blue eyes and met Dean's gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath as she stood.

"I'll get you both some coffee, and some breakfast. Then I'll get the wagon out, see if Smitty can take some food over for the family." She was half-muttering the words to herself as she moved to walk away, but his fingers gently grasping at hers stopped her, and she turned back.

"Hey, Callie - make that first cup Irish, okay?" She nodded, touched by his troubled eyes, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Of course, Dean." She looked over at Sam, exchanging a sad smile with him, before leaving them to their thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late afternoon when Dean walked back into the Silver Birch, and Chuck Tanner was sitting in his usual spot. He returned Dean's nod with a venomous stare, which Dean ignored as he headed down the hall to the kitchen. "Hey, Griz. Where's Callie?"

"Oh, she's in her office, Sheriff. Smitty just brought her back from the Larson's." The old man shook his head sadly. "Damn shame, that is. Why the hell would somebody take to killin' youngsters?"

"I don't know, Griz, but I'm gonna find out. I promise you that." He patted him on the shoulder and turned to exit the kitchen, heading for the office.

"Sure seems like you make yourself at home around here, Sheriff. Kinda presumptuous if you ask me," Tanner muttered darkly, and Dean kept walking.

"Good thing nobody asked you," he fired back over his shoulder as he knocked on the office door. After a muffled 'Come in,' he turned the handle and entered, closing the door behind him. "Callie? Where are you?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room. She stepped out from behind the changing screen, her eyes still a little red and swollen from crying. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, and her lips quivered a little before she nodded her head resolutely. Dean approached her carefully, taking her hand as he looked at her downturned face. "Callie?"

She let out a quiet sob, then stepped into his arms, and he held her as she cried for a few moments, her hands gripping his vest. "I couldn't let myself cry in front of them, and now I can't seem to stop," she said in a broken voice, and he rubbed her back gently with one hand, holding her until she had stopped again. She looked up into his sympathetic eyes, and he put his hand to her cheek, brushing away a tear.

"It's okay. It's rough, a kid that age. But we're gonna find who did this, Callie." She was looking up at him with such sorrow, and trust, and the next thing he knew, Dean was bending to brush his lips over hers. What he didn't expect was for her to lean into his kiss, her eyes closing, her body pressing against his, and for a moment he responded, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms tighter around her. He stopped himself, raising his head and taking a step back, his hands dropping away as her eyes fluttered open and she stared into his, then looked down again, her cheeks flooded with color. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "that was..."

Callie put a hand to her lips briefly, shaking her head. "No, please don't apologize, Dean." She stepped away from him, turning her back as she moved away, squeezing her eyes shut for a second as she tried to calm herself, then turning to face him again. "So, what did you need to see me about?"

"I just... I wanted to tell you that I don't think you should be riding home alone anymore. Not until we catch the killer. We don't really know what's going on, and you shouldn't be out there alone after dark. In fact, you shouldn't be at your place alone right now, out in the middle of nowhere." She stared back at him silently, worry slowly dawning in her eyes. "And Emily needs to stop coming to work here for a while. She's young enough... if this is - well, if they're after kids..."

"Oh, my God," Callie breathed, horror on her face. "Okay, I'll have someone take her home. And I can stay here, I guess, in one of the rooms. If you think it's necessary. But I'll need to go home to get some things."

"I'll go with you."

"The hell you will." Chuck stood in the doorway, his lip curled in contempt as he stared at Dean. "Callie, you'll come and stay with me. I've got security, lots of ranch hands out there, and I can bring you into town in the mornings. I won't have you staying in this place with the whores..."

"Charles Irving Tanner Jr.! Shut your mouth!" Callie actually stomped her foot as she shouted, and the big, blustering man snapped his jaw shut as she approached him like a runaway train. "You just come barging into MY office without even knocking, butting into a private conversation, and once again trying to tell me what I will or won't do? You have lost your mind! I am sick and tired of you acting like you have some kind of authority over me. Even if you were a friend of Matthew's, you have no right to control my decisions! And for the last time, the girls who work here are NOT WHORES!" Callie's fists were clenched at her sides, her arms stiff, her face flushed as she shouted into Tanner's sullen face.

"Someday soon, Calliope, you'll be changing your tune. You'll see," he said, his voice quiet but charged with what sounded almost like a veiled threat. Callie put her hand square in the middle of his chest and shoved him backwards, her eyes full of venom.

"And don't call me Calliope." Then she slammed the door in his face, turning away and sweeping her arm across the small table near the doorway, sending papers and a vase flying, the sound of shattering glass following quickly behind. "Son of a bitch!" she cursed, and Dean fought to hide his smile.

"You okay?" he asked, almost flinching back as she whirled suddenly to face him, her eyes glittering and her cheeks bright with color.

"I am just fine. I've been holding that back for far too long. That man is done trying to run my life. He's been after the Silver Birch for months now, and hinting that I should be a rich man's wife, which, I assume, means him. I'd just as soon kiss a rattlesnake!"

Dean couldn't hide his smile any longer, and he walked to her desk, picking up a cut glass decanter full of amber liquid. "Got any glasses? I think you could use a drink, and I know I could use one."

Callie took a deep breath, then walked around behind her desk and sat down, opening a drawer and pulling out two glasses. "Yes, I could use a drink. Maybe two. And then I'm going to have to go out to my place to get my things, if I'm staying here." She took the glass from Dean, taking a sip and then setting it down. "Thank you."

He took a seat in front of the desk and smiled at her, stretching his long legs out in front of him, one boot crossed over the other, as he leaned back, then hoisting his glass in the air. "No, thank you. This is good whiskey."

* * *

Dean walked Emily home himself, telling her to stay inside and not to come back to work until he let her know it was safe. She nodded in agreement, her eyes big with both fear and adoration, smiling timidly before she went inside to send her father out at Dean's request. He listened somberly as Dean explained what had happened, shaking his hand and wishing him luck in finding the monster responsible for murdering the little Larson boy, promising to keep Emily in until it was safe again.

When he returned, Dean walked back into the saloon and straight to Callie's office, knocking and entering at her soft 'Come in."

"Emily's safe. Had a talk with her father, too, so he knows to keep her at home."

"Thank you, Dean." Callie had changed into her riding clothes, and was in the process of putting on her jacket. "I guess I'm ready to head home. If you are."

He had already saddled Callie's horse for her, so they mounted up and headed north out of town towards Callie's small ranch. The sun was on its way down, throwing trees and buildings along their path into silhouette as they passed by at a slow canter. They were silent, riding through the gathering twilight with just the creak of the saddles and occasional soft snorts of the horses interrupting the quiet.

It was just a little over a mile to Callie's place, and soon they were tying up the horses to the rail fence surrounding the house. She led the way into the house, completely dark except for the banked fire barely glowing in the fireplace. Callie picked up the matches from the table beside the door, and soon a lamp was softly illuminating the kitchen. She turned up the flame a little and turned to motion Dean in. "Come on in. I'll try not to take too long. Do you want some coffee?"

Dean shook his head with a smile. "No, but thanks."

She lit another lamp and smiled a little nervously. "I'll be right back." Dean nodded, then wandered aimlessly around the room. A few minutes later, Callie came into the room, a packed saddlebag in hand. "Well, this will get me by. I'll come out with the wagon to get more if I need to stay longer than a couple of days."

Dean nodded. "Good. Let's get back to town, I'm sure Sam's wondering what's going on by now."

Callie blew out the lamps and they made their way back out to the porch. Dean made sure the door was locked and secure, then turned and bumped into Callie, who dropped the saddlebag on the ground. They laughed softly as he bent to pick it up, just in time for a shot to whiz by, a ricochet echoing through the air.

"Callie! Get down!" he whispered harshly, pulling at her, and she dropped to the ground next to him. Dean pulled his gun, stood up behind the horse and fired off three quick shots into the dark before dropping back down to Callie's side. He listened intently, waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps, but after a few minutes, hoofbeats moving away from them into the distance let him breathe a shallow sigh of relief. "I think they're gone," he whispered, feeling Callie grab a handful of his sleeve.

"Good. Because I've been shot," she said, her voice fading as she collapsed against him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Callie!" Dean swore under his breath, trying to balance her on one arm while he searched her pockets for the key to the door. "Callie? Damn it..." He laid her gently on the ground and scrambled for the door, unlocking it after fumbling with the lock for what seemed to him an eternity. He threw the door open and felt around on the table for the matches she had used earlier, lit the lamp, and then rushed back to her side. "Callie? Let's get you inside, okay?" He bent to lift her into his arms, and she stirred with a moan. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, we've gotta get you inside so I can have a look at where that bullet went. Stay with me, Callie."

He carried her in, kicking the door shut behind him, and moving through the kitchen into her bedroom. He walked carefully in the dim light, laying her down on the bed and then returning to the kitchen to lock the door again, just in case the shooter decided to double back. He grabbed the lamp and hurried back into the bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her, the lamp on the table beside the bed shedding light on the white blouse soaked through with her blood. He swallowed, his throat constricted as he reached to undo the buttons, laying it open. He swore under his breath again at the lack of instant hot water, antibiotics, all the things he was used to using on himself and Sam when they ended up needing treatment. Taking a deep breath, he went to the kitchen, grabbing a handful of towels from a cabinet, then lighting the lamp on the table to shed more light in the room. He threw kindling and wood into the stove, pulling his Zippo from his pocket to light it, glad that Callie couldn't see the shortcut he was using. Once the flames took off, he placed the lid back over the fire and used the pump in the kitchen sink to fill the tea kettle, setting it on to heat before rushing back to Callie's side with the towels.

He wiped carefully at the blood on her chest and arm, and then closed his eyes for a moment, letting a measure of relief wash over him. The bullet had hit her in the shoulder, right below her collarbone, and he blew out a shaky breath. "Thank God." The wound was still seeping a little blood, but not bleeding profusely anymore. "Callie? Can you hear me?"

A quiet groan was his answer, and then she whispered, "Dean?"

"Yeah, Callie, I'm right here. The bullet is in your shoulder. You'll be okay. But I'll have to take it out, sweetheart, and it's gonna hurt. Do you have any whiskey? For the pain, and to clean the wound?"

Callie nodded slowly, her face pale. "Yes. In the cupboard beside the stove."

"Okay. I'll be right back. We need to get some of that in you before I start, all right?"

She nodded again, her eyes closed, and he squeezed her hand. "You're gonna be okay. I promise."

She opened her eyes and looked at him for a moment before responding in a weak whisper. "I trust you, Dean."

He stood and went back to the kitchen, checking the tea kettle, which was barely beginning to warm, and locating the whiskey. He was glad to see it was almost a full bottle, and he grabbed a glass from a nearby shelf, heading back to Callie's room. He sat next to her again, pouring the glass half full and gritting his teeth as he slipped his arm beneath her, causing her to whimper in pain. "I know, I'm sorry. But you need to drink this, it'll help with the pain." He held her upright enough that she could take the glass and sip at the whiskey, and he held a towel gently over the wound to staunch the renewed flow of blood from the change in position.

He urged her on until the glass was empty, then lowered her back down to the pillows. "Doing great, Callie. Just let the whiskey work for a minute while I go get some supplies. Do you have a needle and thread?"

She nodded, pointing towards her dresser. "Top drawer on the left."

Dean took a clean towel from the stack and gently swabbed her forehead. "You're doing great, sweetheart. You'll be just fine."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." He held her hand for a moment, then bent to place a soft kiss on her forehead before standing up to gather the things he needed. The bullet would have to come out, and it wasn't going to be pleasant. And she was laying here because of him. That bullet was meant for him, he was sure of that, and when he found out who it was... He pushed that thought from his mind as he prepared for the task ahead.

Finally ready, Dean took the chimney off the lamp and opened his knife. He held the blade in the flame until it was almost glowing, then laid it aside on a clean towel to cool. He folded one of the cloths and handed it to Callie, giving her hand a squeeze. "You can bite down on that. It helps a little. I'm gonna pour some whiskey into that wound, and then I'll go in with my knife to pry it out. The good news is, I don't think it's too deep. But it'll hurt, I won't lie."

Callie's lips quirked in a weak one-sided smile. "I know. Just do what you need to, Dean, I'll be okay." She took a breath, then put the cloth between her teeth, met his gaze, and gave a resolute nod.

Dean tucked some towels around Callie's shoulder, then grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a deep breath. He poured whiskey over the wound, then immediately took his knife and probed, trying to ignore Callie's hand fisting in the bedding, her head rearing back into the pillow, the muffled whimper that she determinedly silenced as she bit down on the cloth between her teeth. He was right, the bullet wasn't deep, and he realized as he popped it free that he'd been holding his breath as he worked. He breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped it onto one of the towels, then pressed a clean one to the now freshly bleeding injury.

"I got it, sweetheart. I got it out." He slowly removed the cloth from between her teeth, and a shudder ran through her body. "I'm sorry." He leaned over to kiss her forehead, leaving his lips against her skin for a moment before he sat up a little to look at her. A tear had escaped from under her lashes, and he brushed it away. "I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," she whispered, letting out a shaky breath. "Now stitches?"

"Only a couple. Here, have a little more whiskey," Dean urged, slipping a hand behind her neck to help her up enough to get a couple of swallows down. After sterilizing the needle and soaking the thread in some of the alcohol, Dean put three neat stitches in her shoulder, closing the wound, then put a clean cloth over it and tore one of the towels in strips to tie the bandage in place.

He raised the bottle to his own lips and took a healthy swig, then another before setting the bottle down on the table. "Thank you, Dean," Callie said softly, looking up at him with gratitude in her eyes, taking hold of his hand.

He averted his eyes, looking down at the floor. "Don't thank me. I'm the reason you got shot."

"Dean, it's not your fault." She continued staring up at his face until he finally looked back at her, chewing his lip a little before answering.

"He was shooting at me. He could have killed you." He looked down again, and Callie squeezed his hand.

"Could have killed you, too. And then I wouldn't get to kiss you again." Surprise widened his eyes a little as he jerked his head back around to stare into her eyes. "I want to kish... kiss you again, Dean." Now that the pain was ebbing, the alcohol was making her feel warm, drowsy, and candid.

A slow smile curved his lips as he looked down at her. "I think that whiskey's really starting to kick in."

"I still wanna kiss you." Her hand moved to grab his sleeve, and she pulled at it clumsily. "C'mere."

Dean smiled down at Callie, her hair spilled over the pillow, fighting to keep her eyes open, and leaned in to kiss her forehead once again. She frowned, and he laughed softly. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? Right now you need to get some sleep."

He laughed again at her answering pout, and then his smile slowly faded as she murmured, "I miss kissing. And I miss being touched. I didn't realize how much... And then you kissed me. And I want..." Callie's voice slowly faded as her eyes drifted shut, and with a soft sigh, she gave in and slept. Dean sat staring down at her for a time, then pulled the comforter over her and left the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Callie woke the next morning to the smell of coffee, and to a miserable pounding in her head. She moaned softly as she moved a little, the throbbing in her head worse than the ache in her injured shoulder. She had begun to try and sit up when Dean came in, moving quickly to her side to help her with an arm behind her back, then propping pillows behind her, easing her back down. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Like someone shot me and then beat me over the head. That whiskey may have helped last night, but today..."

"I'm sorry, Callie. But we needed to get that bullet out, and that was the only way. You want some coffee? And I see you've got some biscuits." She nodded slowly, wincing, and moved as if to get out of bed, but Dean stopped her with a gentle hand on her good shoulder. "Stay put. I'll bring it to you. Wish I had some eggs or something."

"Go out to the hen house - fresh eggs out there," she said hoarsely, and he grinned.

"I'll bring you some coffee, and then I'll go get the eggs. What you need is some good protein."

She tried half-heartedly to smile, and relaxed back onto the pillows. Dean brought the coffee, then made sure she was propped up enough to be able to drink it before he headed outside. She sipped carefully at the piping hot brew, her heart warmed by the concern he was showing for her.

She managed to get out of bed to take care of her morning needs and to use the rest of the water from the tea kettle, still there from the night before, to wash up a little. Then she set her coffee on the table next to the bed and actually dozed off again for a bit, waking when Dean came into the room carrying a plate with scrambled eggs and biscuits smeared with honey. He spread a towel over her lap and set the plate there, looking very proud of himself. "What do you think of that? Breakfast in bed," he joked, and she smiled.

"It looks great, Dean. Thank you." She looked up at him until his perusal made her feel self-conscious, and dropped her eyes to her plate. "Aren't you having any?"

"Oh, hell, yeah. Mind if I come in and join you?"

"Pull up a chair," she answered, and soon he was sitting beside the bed, eating with her, and talking with her about what needed to be done around the ranch for the morning chores. Soon they were finished, and he leaned over to take her plate, setting their dishes on the nearby table. Then he moved to the edge of the bed, and she forced herself to look up into his eyes, pulling her gaze from the sight of his tongue running over his lips, his teeth biting gently at his bottom lip before he spoke.

"I should have a look at that bullet wound, see if it needs to be redressed," he said, but neither of them were really thinking of that. He slowly moved in closer, and she felt her pulse quicken a little. "Callie... You said last night that you wanted to kiss me again. Do you still..."

"Yes," she whispered, and he closed the remaining distance between them, one arm slipping behind her back and his other hand cradling her face. His fingers tangled in her hair, his thumb brushing over the soft skin beneath it as his lips slanted over hers, his tongue sweeping over her bottom lip and slipping past to glide over hers as she opened herself to him with a hint of a whimper in her sigh. She lost herself in him, in the taste and feel and smell of him, in the strength and restrained power she sensed in him, in the sweet, gentle care he was showing her, and she never wanted to be found.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean had held himself back as long as he could stand it, and when he gave in and kissed her, heat seared through him, almost taking his breath away. She was hungry for him, almost desperate, and it took every ounce of will power he could dredge up to stop. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, breathing hard, and when she pulled at his shirt trying to kiss him again, he almost... almost gave in.

He stood quickly, rubbing a hand over his face, his back turned as he tried to compose himself and calm his body's response to touching her, kissing her.

"Dean... what?" She could hear the deep breath he took before answering, his back still to her as he rubbed at his jaw roughly.

"Look, Callie, I... I'm not from around here, and I have no idea how long I'll be here. And you deserve to be with someone you can really be with, for life, not just some jerk who's passing through town for a few weeks."

"Don't you think that's my decision to make?" Her voice was quiet, but unyielding, and he turned to meet her unflinching cobalt stare.

"And what if you ended up..." His eyes flicked momentarily to her belly, then back to her face.

She shook her head. "I can't. I can't have children. Matt and I... we lost one, and it almost killed me. The doc said I'd never be able again, too much damage." She continued staring back at him, challenge in her gaze, until he spoke again.

"You're hurt."

"We'll be careful. You're running out of arguments, Sheriff."

"Callie..."

"Dean - if you don't want me, I understand. But if you're trying to be a self-sacrificing hero, please - don't. I don't need a hero right now. I need a man to hold me. Matt died over a year ago, and I've been living my life, but... it's been a long time since I felt really alive. When you kiss me, Dean - it makes me feel alive."

She could see the longing in his eyes as he stared back at her, and when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, she suppressed a moan. But he saw the look on her face, and his resolve melted away. In two quick steps he was back at her bedside.

He sat at the edge of the bed, leaning in to frame her face in his hands, his jaw working a little as he looked down at her. Then he closed his eyes tight for a brief moment before giving in completely and melding their lips together in a fiery kiss.

One hand moved slowly down, stroking over her uninjured shoulder, down the length of her arm and back, and finally cupping her breast, her soft moan coaxing one from him as well. He kneaded gently at her soft flesh, circling his palm over the rapidly hardening nipple, drinking in her ecstatic breaths as she slipped her hand behind his neck, her fingers gripping him tight.

He eased out of the kiss, sitting up and sliding his arm beneath her to help her sit up. He untied the neck of her chemise, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of her pale, glowing skin as he helped her undress, carefully removing the garment before laying her back against the pillows. He fondled one breast in his large hand, then bent close to the other, taking the nipple between his lips, then flicking his tongue over it before gently sucking it into his mouth. Callie let out a soft, breathy moan, her back arching up, and then a stifled cry of pain made Dean stop and raise his head. "Sweetheart, just don't move. Let me do all the work here. Okay?" He smiled at her, his eyes warm, and she blushed a little as she smiled shyly in answer, nodding once. He gave her a little wink, the tip of his tongue between his teeth, before bending over her again and causing her to close her eyes from the blissful torment.

She clutched at his hair with one hand, the sheets with the other, and the sounds she was making urged him on. He skimmed his hands lightly down her sides, watching goosebumps bloom over her skin in their wake, and slowly finished undressing her. She watched him hungrily as he removed his clothes, then laid down beside her on the bed, his fingers tracing up over her jaw line to bury themselves in her soft hair as he kissed her again. He continued kissing her as his hand moved slowly down her body, trailing lightly over her belly and tickling over the inside of her thigh, urging her to move it outward. Then he stroked down over her soft curls, gently progressing downward until he could stroke over her folds, letting out a low growl in his throat at how wet she was, how she whimpered into their kiss, how her hips rose to meet his probing fingers.

Dean shifted his body down a little, his lips caressing the tender skin of her neck and shoulder, and slipped a finger slowly inside her, nipping at her shoulder as he felt her contract around him, softly calling out his name. "Callie, you feel so good," he murmured against her skin as he pumped his finger in and out a few times, then added another, stretching her gently, then circling her clit with his thumb. Her hips bucked up as he picked up the pace, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling around and over her clit and then, finally, pressing on it hard as he curled his fingers inside her. She wailed out his name as she shuddered, her body quivering with her release, and he moved up to kiss her, soothing her, easing her through until she relaxed, weak and euphoric, beside him.

"Maybe that's enough for now," he whispered, smiling softly at her slightly dazed expression. But he caught his breath as her hand found him, her fingers trailing over the velvety hot length of his erection pressed against her thigh.

"I don't want you to stop," she said quietly, and the need in her voice made Dean twitch under her hand.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a rough whisper, his muscles tensing at her touch, his fingertips tracing patterns over the soft skin of her abdomen, feeling her belly contract.

"I'm sure, Dean." He bent to trace circles around her nipple with his tongue, and her voice was a whimper as she said, "Please..."

He raised himself up on one elbow, taking her lips captive beneath his again, letting out a little grunt as she squeezed him. He moved her legs apart, his hands gliding up the inside of her thighs, and a loud moan escaped him, muffled by their kiss, as he touched her and felt her heat and slick on his fingers. Then he shifted his body, positioning himself between her legs, reaching down to guide himself to her opening, then pushing in slowly, a little at a time, as Callie gasped and moaned at the sensation. He finally filled her completely, holding himself above her and keeping his hips completely still as he kissed her again, her good arm raising up to grip at the smooth muscles of his back, one leg wrapping around his waist. He pulled back for a moment, looking down at her, his eyes dark with passion but also wordless concern. She nodded slowly, a faint smile on her face, whispering, "I'm okay."

"So you want me to move?" He shifted his hips just slightly, and Callie pressed her head back against the pillows, her eyes closing as she caught her breath.

"Yes, Dean, please..." She let out a soft cry as he pulled out a little, then back in, starting slowly. He pulled out a little more each time, then thrust back in, until finally he set a smooth, easy rhythm, moving his hips at an easy but relentless pace. He watched as she lost herself in the pleasure, her head rolling on the pillow, biting at her lip as she tried to keep the movement of her body under control.

He pulled her other leg up around his waist, angling his thrusts to brush against the spot inside her that made her utter a harsh cry, then speeding up his strokes, muttering a whispered curse, her walls squeezing him tight as he hit his target over and over again. He was close, and so was she, and he pushed inside her to the limit, holding his position and grinding his hips into her, putting enough pressure on her clit to make her half-shout, half-sob his name as she came. That was all it took to send him over the edge, and he began thrusting into her, his cock throbbing with his release until he finally shuddered to a stop. He held himself above her, kissing her shoulder, her throat, and moving to her lips, gently caressing them with his. Then he pulled out, moving to her side, nothing breaking the silence but their breathing, slowly returning to normal, the air cooling the sweat on their bodies.

Dean finally spoke softly, his hand taking hers, leaning in to kiss her damp brow. "Doing okay?"

She sighed, an ethereal smile curving her lips. "I'm wonderful."

Dean smiled. "Not in pain?"

She shook her head. "I might need to sleep a little."

"Sounds good to me," he answered, leaning over for a lingering kiss, then sitting up to grab the sheet and comforter and pulling them up over them both. "Sleep a while, then we'll get ready to head back to town."

Callie nodded again, her eyes already drifting shut, and Dean slipped an arm beneath her head, laying the other over her waist, and closed his eyes.

By late afternoon they arrived behind the Silver Birch, Dean's horse hitched to the wagon and Callie's tied behind it. Dean jumped down, then helped her climb down, smiling at her before turning to take care of the horses. She watched, waiting for him, and they walked into the back entrance together. "Miss Callie! Where have you been?" Griz asked, then frowned as he saw the makeshift sling she wore. "What happened?"

"I'm fine, Griz, don't worry. Everything okay here?"

"Sheriff, your brother's out there. He's been asking after you."

Dean nodded, heading for the door to the saloon. "Thanks, Griz."

Sam half rose from his chair as Dean approached, but Dean motioned him down and took a chair at the table. "Where have you been, Dean? I was going to head out to Callie's place next to see what happened to you. I hate this no cell phones thing!"

Dean hushed him, glancing around, but they were the only ones there at the moment. "I took her home to get some things last night, so she could stay in town. When we were getting ready to leave, somebody took a shot at me. Unfortunately, she caught the ricochet in her shoulder. I had to take the bullet out, do a couple of stitches."

"At least you weren't just out there to... you know..." A guilty look flashed over Dean's face, and Sam glared at him. "Seriously, Dean?"

"Not why I went out there, it just happened, okay?"

"Yeah, well... while you were gone - another kid was killed. Here in Calvage. Another boy, eight years old. Throat cut, just like the last one. Dean, we've gotta figure this out before another kid dies."

Dean swore under his breath, his jaw clenched angrily. "Taken from his parents' house again?"

Sam nodded, his face mirroring Dean's anger. "Yeah. Just like Samuel told us in his letter. And Dean - his throat was cut, but no blood at the scene, just like the Larson kid. Has to be a ritual sacrifice."

Callie came out of the kitchen, heading straight for their table, shock on her face. "Is it true?"

Dean stood up, reaching for her hand. "Yeah. It's true."

"Oh, my God..." Dean guided her to the chair, and she looked up at him, a stricken expression in her eyes. He hunkered down next to her, placing a kiss on her palm and then squeezing her hand.

"We're gonna get 'em, Callie. If you hear anything in here that seems out of the ordinary, or see anyone that's acting different than normal, please let us know."

Chuck Tanner chose that moment to enter the saloon, the wide smile on his face fading quickly as his eyes fell on Dean and Callie. A look of disbelief changed quickly to anger, and he approached them with a purposeful stride. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled at Dean, then his eyes widened as he noticed Callie's injury. "What happened to you? Sheriff, you're supposed to protect the people of this town, not get them hurt!"

Dean stood up, eye to eye with the blustering man. "You seem surprised to see me, Chuck," he said, putting emphasis on the name. "See, someone took a shot at me last night, and instead of hitting me, they got Miss Dalton. Lucky for both of us he was a damned poor shot."

Chuck glowered back at him, then turned on his heel and stomped from the saloon, shouting for the ranch hand that had accompanied him into town, followed by the sound of their horses galloping away. Dean turned to Sam, the look on his face almost giving Callie a chill.

"We need to watch him," he said to his brother, "and we need to go talk to Samuel Colt." Then he turned and headed out the door without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

"So what are you thinking, Samuel? Anything you've got that might help us out... we could use all the help we can get. And I think maybe we'd better camp out here, the date's already past that you told us in your letter. Something may have happened to change things, but maybe not to stop it. If we're here, maybe there's a better chance." Dean looked to the retired hunter, one brow raised in question as he waited for an answer.

Samuel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "I'll do whatever you need. I can't take the thought of my boy..." He stopped for a moment, his eyes meeting those of his wife who stood in the doorway, a quiet pleading on her face.

"Please, Sheriff. Please keep Caldwell safe. He's an innocent little boy." The distraught woman came up behind her husband, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Samuel reached up to take hold of it gently.

"I'm not well, boys. I need to make sure Elizabeth has our son..." He stopped for a moment, then continued. "You boys are good hunters. I know that. If anyone can stop this, it's you." His voice wavered a little as he stood from the table, putting his arm around his wife. "Come on, Lizzie, let's turn in."

The woman turned before leaving the room, looking Sam and Dean each in the eye. "Would you please stay with Caldwell? In his room? I'm just so afraid..."

Sam nodded, smiling kindly at her. "Of course, Mrs. Colt. We'll do everything in our power to keep him safe."

They followed the couple down the hall and watched as they said goodnight to their sleeping three-year-old. Then Elizabeth handed them an armful of blankets, and left them with a wavering smile.

"I'll sleep on his floor, just in case. Maybe you should camp out outside his door," Sam suggested, and Dean nodded in agreement. They spread out bedding in each space for themselves, then stretched out to try and get some rest.

It was well into the night when Sam woke, his senses on high alert, his nerves almost humming with an overwhelming foreboding. With some effort, he controlled his breathing, keeping it quiet and even, his eyes scanning the darkness. When he didn't sense movement, he slowly turned to his side and raised up a little, then exhaled slowly in relief at the sight of the little boy still curled up beneath his blankets on the bed nearby.

He was still lying there, trying to settle the uneasy feeling in his gut, when a whisper-soft movement caught his attention. He grabbed his mini flashlight from beneath his pillow, as well as the iron poker he had placed beside his bedroll, and moved quickly and silently to his feet. His eyes widened as he said his brother's name softly, trying not to wake the sleeping child.

Dean came through the door immediately, flashlight and sawed-off loaded with salt rounds in his hands. Sam nodded towards the foot of the boy's bed, where a ghostly figure hovered, turning to face them, expressionless. It was hard to focus on the shifting visage, but it was clearly a native shaman, his eyes surrounded by a mask of red and black paint, feathers hanging from his white hair. As the spirit turned, its face shimmered in the dim light, shifting from its aged face to a bare skull and back again. It pointed a bony finger towards the boy, and Dean took a step forward.

"I don't think so, Geronimo," he whispered, keeping the gun aimed at the spirit, backing his way around to stand beside the boy's bed. "You're not getting this one."

The ghostly hand slowly dropped to the wavering figure's side, and the spirit's head bowed for a moment. It raised its gaze to Sam, then Dean, and its lips moved silently before it clenched a fist to its chest, then raised the hand in salute. Then, as mysteriously as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving Sam and Dean to stare at each other in surprise and relief.

The brothers moved into the hall, and Sam grabbed Dean's arm as they looked wide-eyed at each other. "Did you hear that?" he whispered, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah. In my head. It said, 'Tanner.'" Sam nodded, and Dean's jaw clenched as he shook his head. "I don't know how, but he's behind this. And we're gonna stop him." He looked to Sam again. "And I got the distinct message that thing wouldn't be coming back for the boy."

Sam nodded, his eyes a little glazed. They stared at each other for a moment, realizing that attempting sleep was probably futile for the remainder of the night, but crawling back into their bedrolls anyway, keeping a watchful eye over the little boy, neither of them able to go back to sleep. After sharing coffee and breakfast with the family at Elizabeth Colt's insistence, they mounted up and headed back to town.

They stayed with the Colts for the remainder of the night, keeping a watchful eye over their son, neither of them able to go back to sleep. After sharing coffee and breakfast with the family, at Elizabeth Colt's insistence, they mounted up and headed back to town.

They stopped at the sheriff's office first, and Sam grabbed Samuel's journal, leafing through it to look for further clues. "Dean, I wish Bobby was here on this one. We need some background on this medicine man or whatever he was. I don't even know who to ask in this time. Maybe I should call Cas, head back home, do some research and then meet you back here - what do you think?"

"I don't know, Sam - can he get you back here? I mean here, here? Like now, here?"

"Of course I can, Dean." Dean started at the sound of the angel's gruff voice behind him, closing his eyes for a moment as he sighed harshly.

"Damn it, Cas! Could you not sneak up on us like that?"

"I don't understand. I wasn't 'sneaking.' I just heard you and responded to Sam's call."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking towards Sam as he answered. "Never mind, Cas. Can you be that precise with the time thing?"

Cas frowned. "Of course, I can be precise. I am a celestial being. I have untold power. I don't understand why you doubt my abilities."

Dean leveled a hard look at him. "Last time you weren't so precise. We just want to make sure this time," he growled impatiently.

"Last time I was injured."

Sam interrupted, impatient. "Fine. Cas, take me back to Bobby's. Dean, I'll be back as soon as I dig up some info on that shaman. Okay?"

"Fine." Dean's brows were drawn together in a thunderous frown as he continued. "And while you're at it, Sammy - look into the family history of the Tanners. He's mixed up in this somehow, and I'd like to know just exactly what or who he really is before we really butt heads."

Sam nodded in agreement, then moved to Cas' side. "I'll bring you back some cold beer." He grinned when Dean looked up at him with a crooked smirk, and then he and Cas disappeared.

* * *

Dean walked into the saloon a little while later, his badge pinned to his black button-down, his gun belt slung low on his hips. It seemed weird to walk around with a pistol on display, so different than modern day where it was always tucked into the back of his jeans or in his jacket pocket, but he kind of liked it. And when someone was gunning for him, it only made sense to keep it handy.

Callie's eyes lit up when he walked in, and she finished what she was saying to Smitty before coming his direction. She motioned with her head towards her office, and Dean followed her in, closing the door behind him and then turning to take her in his arms immediately, kissing away the question that had been on her lips.

When he finally lifted his lips from hers, he looked down at her, concern in his eyes. "How's the shoulder? You should let me have a look."

"It's okay, Dean, really. The doc looked at it yesterday, he said you did a good job." She smiled up at him, and he kissed her again.

"Only seems right, since that bullet was meant for me."

She led him to the chair in front of her desk, and he sat as she went to the sideboard and poured them a drink. "That is not your fault, Sheriff," she said in a scolding tone as she handed him the crystal tumbler. She took a seat behind the desk, her smile fading slowly as he looked up, the gravity of what was weighing on his mind clear on his face. "What is it, Dean?"

"What do you know about Tanner and his family? Their history?"

"Chuck?" The dismissive tone in her voice made Dean raise his chin a little, his eyes narrowing a little. "I don't know much. But he's such a... a fool. You don't think he's involved in these murders, do you?"

He took a drink of the whiskey, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment before he swallowed, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip briefly before he looked at her again. "I don't know, Callie. He's involved in something. I think he's behind the shooting at your place."

Her eyes widened a little, and he could see her mind working before she answered. "Well, that could be just plain old jealousy. He makes no secret about wanting to be with me, Dean. You came to town and swept me off my feet. I'm sure that didn't sit well."

"Yeah, he's jealous. But it's more than that. I just don't know yet how far it goes." He took a deep breath, his lips pressed together for a moment before he continued. "I want you to be careful around him, Callie. That's all I ask. I don't trust him, and I don't think you should, either. I don't think he's as harmless as you might think."

She nodded slowly, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "It's just so hard to believe..."

"I know. Just... don't be alone with him."

She nodded again, nibbling a little at her lip before looking directly into his eyes. "What about with you? Can I... be alone with you?"

Dean's lips curved slightly as he looked down at his glass, and when he raised his gaze to hers, she caught her breath. "Any time you want, sweetheart."

She stared into his eyes, mesmerized, until a few seconds later when a knock sounded at the door, and Callie exhaled, closing her eyes, before calling out, "Come in!"

"Miss Callie, I'm sorry to bother you, but Miss Emily hasn't showed up to work. We got a few folks out here, and I can't keep up in the kitchen and take care of the tables, too."

Callie shook her head. "It's okay, Griz. I'll be right out. Just go take care of the kitchen. Miss Emily's papa probably just decided it was best to keep her home. I can't blame him."

Griz nodded, hurrying from the room, and Dean and Callie rose from their chairs. Dean downed his drink, then followed her to the door. He pushed the door partly shut and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her, slow and deep, one hand cupping her breast and squeezing gently as she moaned softly into his mouth. "Can I come to your room tonight?" he whispered, and she relaxed against him for just a moment before answering, her voice shaking slightly.

"Last room down the hall to the left." Dean's eyes flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again, and he nodded before letting her go to wait on her customers.

* * *

It was late when Dean got back to the saloon, and he entered through the kitchen, since the front doors were closed and barred for the night. Griz nodded a greeting, and Dean smiled as the old man rose from his chair at the table where he'd been peeling potatoes for the next day's meal. "I'll just lock up now, Sheriff," he said quietly, going to the door as Dean headed up the back stairs.

He moved silently down the hallway, stopping in front of the room at the end. He hesitated for only a second, pushing his guilty thoughts to the back of his mind as he tapped very softly at the door.

After glancing over his shoulder, he stepped in and Callie closed the door behind him. He turned, his hat in his hand, and for a moment time stood still as they stared at each other. Dean's eyes traveled slowly over the gauzy white gown draped enticingly over her curves, just sheer enough to tease. Her hair, gleaming auburn in the lamplight, tumbled in waves to the middle of her back, and her hands were clasped nervously in front of her.

She moved first, coming towards him and taking his hat, laying it on the chair behind him. She stood before him, her eyes locked with his, as she reached for his shoulders, letting her hands rest there for a moment before moving down over his chest, her lips parting as her heart sped up at the feel of him beneath her fingertips. She began to undo the buttons of his black shirt, and with some effort Dean stayed still, letting her have her way.

He let his eyes drift shut as she ran her hands over his warm, smooth skin, and he bit at his lip as she brushed over his nipples, then back up as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders. He aided its descent to the floor, his tongue swiping over his lips, breathing harder as she caressed down the length of his arms. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, barely brushing her lips over his as her fingers found the buckle of his gun belt.

She laid his weapon aside, then met his heated gaze again as she worked to open the button fly of his jeans, now pushed to their limits from his erection. He closed his eyes again and clenched his jaw as she pushed them down, along with his boxers, careful not to touch him, and he hissed softly as he was freed from the constricting clothing. She stood there, her eyes locked with his, her hand gliding gently over his hip and around to smooth over the curve of his ass, her chest beginning to move visibly with her quickening breath.

Dean's eyes focused on Callie's breasts, her nipples now hard and visible under the gown, and he reached a hand to gently pluck at one, making her gasp. Dean toed off his boots and kicked away the rest of his clothes, letting Callie touch him again, her eyes following her hands as they explored his body, her fingertips finally brushing softly over the head of his cock, and his restraint was gone.

He pulled her close, his hands buried in the silken mass of her hair, kissing her as if he couldn't survive without it. She pressed herself closer to him, her good arm raising around his neck, and he let one hand move down to cup a breast, moaning softly into their kiss. "Dean," she whimpered, her desire for him overwhelming her. He stopped kissing her for a moment, pulling back and seeing his need mirrored in her eyes. He pulled her gown up, gathering it to pull it over her head, leaving them both naked, then swept her into his arms, carrying her the few steps to the turned-down bed.

He laid her gently on the bed, careful of her shoulder, then crawled up beside her, kissing her as he finally let his hands roam, over her breasts, down between her thighs, humming into her mouth as he ran his fingers through the slick heat he found there.

Callie's hips rose to meet his touch, and Dean sucked lightly on her tongue as he slipped one finger, then two, inside her, the heel of his hand pressing on her swollen clit, an almost desperate moan escaping her as she clenched around him. His lips trailed fire across her jaw, down her neck, and when he took her nipple into his mouth she arched up beneath him, his name a prayer on her lips.

By the time he had kissed his way down to her thighs, she was whimpering mindlessly, bucking against his fingers, her hands clutching the sheets. When he removed his hand from her, she looked up in weak protest, watching as he moved between her legs, saying his name nervously as she saw what he was about to do. He looked up, his hand stroking over her hip, and whispered, "Trust me."

She grabbed the pillow, shoving the corner of it in her mouth, smothering her cries as he ran the flat of his tongue over her, then dipped inside, the absolutely sinful sounds he was making almost driving her to her end. And when he plunged his fingers back into her, tongue flicking hard over her clit before sucking it between his lips, she screamed into the muffling cloth, blinding ecstasy washing endlessly over her in waves.

When she was able to think again, she could feel him still gently running his tongue over her, and she laid there unable to move as he very slowly kissed his way back up her body, his cock nudging at her entrance as he held himself propped on one arm and bent to kiss her lips. She opened her eyes and looked up at him as he smoothed her hair from her face, smiling gently at the wonder in her eyes. "You can never leave," she whispered, and his smile widened as he kissed her again, his hand moving to her breast, teasing at her nipple, the fire inside her building again quickly under his touch, his kiss. When he guided himself slowly inside her, she raised to meet him, and he laced the fingers of his hand through hers, keeping her injured arm resting against the sheets as she clutched at him with the other, her nails digging into his back.

They quickly found their rhythm, and Dean let out a quiet growl as she wrapped her silken limbs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He moved the angle of his stroke just a little, and she cried out softly as sparks of pleasure shot from her core through her body as she gripped around his length, making him curse softly. He began to pick up speed, driving into her hard, her legs clenched tight around him, and when he reached between them it only took a touch to send her into a second orgasm, clenching her teeth to keep from shouting. She convulsed around him, sending him into his own oblivion, his head burrowed into the pillow beside her as his last few desperate thrusts emptied him completely, sending a violent shudder through him as he let himself rest slightly to her side, completely spent.

They laid there together, silent, for a time, and then he finally moved, pulling from her reluctantly. He gathered her into his arms, covering their cooling bodies with the down comforter, and she laid, content and exhausted, her head on his chest, his hand in her hair.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke early, his fingers tangled in Callie's hair, her legs twined with his, and it took him several careful minutes to get himself free. He dressed quietly, carrying his boots and gun belt out of the room with him, taking one more backward glance at her sleeping form before pulling the door shut behind him.

He pulled his boots on and buckled the gun belt in place before heading down the back stairs into the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee wafted towards him and he breathed deep of the aroma as he went to the cupboard for a cup. "Mornin', Griz," he greeted him, and the old man grumbled a reply as Dean helped himself to the dark, steaming brew. He leaned on the corner of the table, watching as Griz turned to reach for the salt, his head tilting as the gruff old cook studiously avoided looking his way. "We got a problem, Griz?" he asked softly, and the older man bowed his head for a moment before speaking hesitantly.

"Ain't my place to say nothin'," he mumbled, and continued with his cooking.

Dean sighed, then continued. "It is your place if I'm asking, Griz."

The spatula was laid carefully beside the stove, and the old man's gnarled hands braced themselves against the counter on either side, his head still low. "Miss Callie don't need no more hurt in her life, Sheriff. She's had enough. You'll be leavin' here sometime soon, I reckon, and you're bound to break her heart, the way things are goin'. I just don't want her hurt no more."

Dean stared at the floor for a bit before answering, his voice subdued. "You're right, Griz. She deserves better. I don't want to hurt her, either. I hope you know that."

Griz's cloudy blue eyes looked Dean in the face as he turned. "I know you don't mean to, Sheriff." Dean gnawed the inside of his lip thoughtfully, then nodded, grabbing his cup and heading into the saloon, leaving Griz to turn back to his stove. "I sure do know that you don't mean to," he mumbled, giving the fried potatoes a stir.

* * *

Dean sat in his office, his feet up on the desk, staring into space as he went over and over the case in his mind. The dead boys' faces, the native shaman with his blank stare, Tanner's veiled threats, all swirled around endlessly without a solution. Griz's words were weighing on him as well, and... damn it, he knew the old man was right. He swung his legs down with a frustrated sigh, reaching beside him to open the drawer and pull out the bottle of whiskey he kept at hand. He was just raising the glass to his lips when Sam came walking through the door.

"Well, I'll be damned. He did manage to get you back here," he remarked, draining the glass and pouring another shot.

"I can see things are going great around here," Sam commented quietly, his brow furrowed as he stared at his big brother, who was avoiding eye contact. "What's going on, Dean?"

"Nothing. Just need this case done so we can get the hell out of here. What'd you find out?"

Sam stared back at him silently for a few seconds, then pulled up a chair. "Well, we were right about the witchy thing. Seems like the Tanners were pretty down and out, always, before Chuck's grandfather. Then, all of a sudden, they couldn't do anything wrong. They started accumulating land, struck gold in one of their mines, and started gaining power in the state. We couldn't find anything concrete, but Bobby and I agree, there were enough whispers and hints of things in the history that they had to be using the dark arts to give themselves a boost. I'll give Chuck credit, he's a good actor. I thought he was too stupid, but I think that was all an act to get close to Callie's husband. I think Matthew Dalton may have been Tanner's first victim, and I think he not only wants the Dalton property, he wants Callie. That's probably why you got shot at in the first place, Chuck doesn't appreciate the competition."

"But why the shaman?"

"I think it just gave him easy access to the kids. He's always within sight of his men or at the saloon, so he looks innocent. The blood of children... that's some powerful dark magic he's using."

Dean stood up, tossing back the remainder of his drink. "Well, I say we go blow Chuck Tanner off the map. We know he's behind this, we just kill him and go back to the future."

Sam stared back at Dean, concern on his face. "You know, we could be wrong."

"You're not wrong. I can feel it in my gut, Sammy. This guy is bad news."

"You know, history says he was the next territorial governor. We can't just shoot him down, who knows what we'd change."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Dean shouted, then shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched. "Sorry. I know you're just as frustrated as I am. But we've got to stop this guy, Sam. Before he kills again. And before he goes after Callie."

Sam nodded. "I know, Dean. Maybe someone should try to head out to Tanner's place? Have a look around? I don't know." He looked warily at Dean before continuing in a quiet tone. "And I know you won't like this, but the best way for us to do that is Callie."

Dean's head snapped up, his eyes full of fire as he glared at Sam. "No! That's not an option, Sam, what are you thinking?"

"Don't you think that should be up to me, Dean?" He turned, surprise mixed with the anger on his face, to see Callie standing in the doorway, a covered tray in her hands. "I brought you some food." She walked into the room, turning to close the door, and moved gracefully to Dean's desk, setting the tray down, then nervously rubbing her hands down the sides of her skirts. "If you believe Chuck is behind this, and you need someone to get inside his place, to be able to hear what's going on, then I am the best way to do that. All I have to do is tell him I've changed my mind, that I'm afraid to stay at the Silver Birch, and that I'll feel safer with him. He'll be easy to manipulate. Then I can keep my ears open and report to you at the saloon."

Dean was shaking his head before he even spoke. "No. You don't understand what that asshole is capable of. Callie, I won't let you do this."

"Just because you made love to me doesn't give you the right to order me around, Dean Winchester. You're starting to sound like him, do you know that? I have my own mind, and I run my own life. It makes perfect sense to me that I should go out there and see if I can help end this nightmare. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pack a bag and have Smitty take me to Tanner's place. Just come in for breakfast like usual, if I have any information for you, I can give it to you then."

Dean's eyes were dark with restrained anger and worry as he reached for Callie's arm. "Don't do this, Callie. I'm asking you not to do this. You don't understand what kind of a monster we're dealing with here."

"Apparently you and Sam think he could be the kind of monster that murders children. I don't see how it could be much worse than that." She stared into his eyes for a moment, determined to ignore the pleading there. "Please let me go, Dean."

He closed his eyes, and with some effort, released his hold on her arm. Callie stepped towards the door, glancing between him and Sam, then gathered her skirts in one hand and left, hurrying down the street as fast as she could.

* * *

"I hate this," Dean hissed under his breath as Tanner escorted Callie into the saloon, a proprietary hand on her waist as he threw a victorious glance Dean's direction.

"Just take it easy," Sam answered quietly. "He's just trying to push your buttons."

"I'd like to push him," Dean grumbled, "preferably off a cliff."

Sam snorted softly, glad to see Dean's lips curve slightly in what almost looked like a smile. "And how are my favorite lawmen this morning?" Callie asked cheerfully with a sidelong glance to Chuck's table.

Sam grinned. "Well, that one's grumpy," he said with a nod to Dean. "How's it going?"

She smiled as she filled their cups, speaking softly. "Slow. I'm in my damn room all the time, how am I supposed to find anything out? I think tonight I'll sneak out, wander around a little."

Dean was glaring at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I have to get some information somehow. If he sees me, I'll just say I was restless, or had a nightmare, or something. Don't worry so much."

She turned away, but Dean had taken hold of her hand, and she turned back trying to ignore what she saw in his eyes. "Callie, I don't want you risking yourself. I want you to come back."

She gave him a forced little smile, her gaze dropped to the floor. "Well, if there's one thing life has taught me, it's that we don't always get what we want." She pulled her hand gently from his and walked away, and cursed softly under his breath.

"Where are they?" Dean whispered in a low growl to Sam as they sat in the Silver Birch, downing yet another cup of Griz's strong coffee. "They should be here by now, Sam. I've got a bad feeling about this. I think we should head out to Tanner's, see what's going on."

"Maybe she's sick."

"Maybe he just won't let her leave. Maybe she finally did see something last night. Anyway, I can't just sit here and think about 'maybe.' I need to make sure she's okay." He stared at Sam, determination shining in his green eyes, until Sam ducked his head a little and nodded in agreement.

"All right. At least let's say we're out there investigating the shooting. It'll give us a reason to talk to some of the hired hands. See if any of them can give us a hint about what's really been happening."

"Works for me. Let's go, Deputy."

Sam's glare burned holes in Dean's back as they pushed through the swinging doors and out into the gloom of the day, the sky overcast and the air damp with impending rain.

Tanner's place wasn't far, less than an hour on horseback, and they reined the horses to a halt at the fence surrounding the huge yard. They tied the animals to a rail, then headed up the cobblestone walk towards the house. A couple of very unfriendly-looking wranglers stood near the door, staring intently at the brothers as they approached. "Pretty sure Mr. Tanner wasn't expecting no company today."

"Pretty sure I don't give a damn. We're here on business, so tell your boss he's got company, whether he likes it or not." Dean's eye narrowed as he replied, staring the other man down until he ducked his head and turned to go inside.

"Take it easy, Dean. We don't need trouble right off the bat."

"Depends on whether they start it right off the bat." The hair was already standing up on the back of Dean's neck, a strong sense of foreboding making him feel very much on the defensive. After a couple of tense minutes, Tanner's lackey appeared in the doorway, motioning them inside with a jerk of his head, and Dean flashed a contemptuous look towards the other hired man still standing near the door, his arms crossed over his chest, watching them as they walked in.

"Down that hall, first door on the right," Tanner's employee muttered begrudgingly, then stepped back outside and closed the door behind him.

Dean's hand moved to his gun for a moment, and after a breath and a glance at his brother, they moved down the hallway. Tanner's overly loud, overly cheerful voice met them at the door. "Sheriff. Deputy. Please, come on in. Join us."

They walked into the room, and that sense of something very wrong at the pit of Dean's stomach surged. Tanner sat lounging in an overstuffed chair, one booted foot crossed over a knee, his arm around Callie, who was perched on the arm of the chair near him. She smiled brightly at them, rising to her feet, but her hand remained in Tanner's as she spoke. "Well, if it isn't the Winchesters! Welcome! May I get some coffee for you gentlemen? Charles and I are so glad to have you visit! Aren't we, Charles?"

"What the hell's going on, Tanner?" Dean's voice was low and menacing, but it drew nothing but a condescending smile from the man.

"Calliope, honey, please go and ask the cook to bring in some refreshments, would you?" Dean's eyes widened at his use of her full name, but she smiled down affectionately at him and put her hand gently to his face. "Of course, Charles." She looked back up at them, smiling once again. "Please do excuse me, gentlemen." She turned and swept gracefully from the room, and Tanner grinned arrogantly.

"So. What can I do for you, Sheriff?"


	8. Chapter 8

"What the hell, Tanner? What did you do to her?" Tanner smiled broadly in return, and Dean's hand twitched towards his gun, but Sam quietly put a restraining hand on his arm, and he took a breath, stuffing his hand in his pocket.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Sheriff. Calliope and I have just had some time to sit down and really talk over things, and she finally agreed that this is where she belongs. Does she seem unhappy to you? Does she act like she's being kept here against her will? She just came to the conclusion that she belongs here, as the mistress of this house."

"You son of a ..."

"I'll thank you to mind your tone and your language in front of my future wife, Winchester," Tanner said softly, his eyes darkening and his tone filled with menace. His smile widened again at the shock on Dean's face. "Yes, that's right. Come this Saturday, Calliope will be Mrs. Charles Tanner. So your fears for her safety are unfounded now. I will take good care of her, Sheriff, better than you have. At least in my company, she won't be in danger of being shot."

"Speaking of that, Tanner, we need to question your men. We just stopped in to let you know we were going to be on your property while we do that." Sam had sidestepped a little in front of his brother, the fingers of one hand tightening painfully on Dean's forearm, which had been inching back towards his gun. "So we'll get out of your hair for now." He nodded curtly to Tanner, then turned towards Dean. "Let's go," he whispered, a warning glint in his eye, and Dean reluctantly followed after flashing one more homicidal glare Chuck's direction.

"Oh, are they leaving? But I just asked Cook to bring in some coffee," Callie said, disappointment in her voice as she entered the room.

"It's all right, honey. They had some law business to attend to. You were a perfect hostess, as always." She smiled brightly down at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek as he stared at the door swinging shut behind the Winchesters, a supercilious smile on his face.

They had barely cleared the front gate when Dean grabbed Sam's arm and jerked, whirling his brother around as he stepped up to him, chin raised defiantly. "Sam, what the hell!"

Sam shoved at Dean's chest, moving back a step. "Dean, you can't just shoot him, no matter how much you want to. We still don't know exactly what's going on..."

"The hell we don't! This has 'witch' written all over it. That wasn't Callie in there. She'd never..." He broke off and turned his back for a moment, fists clenched in frustration, taking a breath before facing Sam again. "There's no way she'd be acting like that on her own, Sam. There's something witchy going on, and you know it."

"I know, Dean. But for all we know, he might not be acting alone. And we don't know what kind of spell we're up against, or how to counter it. We don't know jack shit. So going off half-cocked isn't gonna help. You're the one who's always saying we go in smart, or we don't go in at all. So just calm down, let's talk to his men and see if we can get any information from them. Okay?" Dean dropped his gaze to the ground, his jaw working, silent for a moment before reluctantly nodding. Sam's voice softened a little as he spoke again. "Look, I know you're worried about her. But he wants to marry her, and he's not gonna hurt her. We just have to focus on figuring out how to fix this."

"Well, then, let's get to work." Dean's no-nonsense stride carried him towards the bunkhouse, and Sam followed, his hazel eyes troubled.

It was mid-afternoon when Dean turned to the ranch foreman, his disposition not improved by the unsuccessful questioning of almost twenty men. "Is that the last?" he growled, and the foreman rubbed the back of his neck, sighing wearily.

"Only one left is Walker. He's been out fixin' fence, but I can ride out after him if you need me to, Sheriff." Truth be told, he just wanted away from the man, who seemed almost on the edge of shooting someone just for the hell of it.

"Yeah, we need you to. We need to question every last man on the place." The man ducked his head in the affirmative, then breathed a sigh of relief as he left the room. Sam looked at Dean as they heard the horse leave the yard in a fast trot, waiting for Dean to meet his gaze. "What?" Dean muttered, taking off his hat and running his fingers roughly through his hair.

"You getting anything out of this?"

Dean sighed, frustrated. "Not a fucking thing. Sounds like Tanner's a good-natured dumbass until somebody pisses him off, and then..."

"Yeah."

Dean was absently toying with his gun when Walker finally walked into the room. The man looked like he was attending his own execution, and Dean narrowed his eyes, holding the pistol up to sight Walker at the end of the barrel, lowering it slowly as the man's face blanched. "You Walker?" he asked, his tone low and menacing.

"I'm Ethan Walker," he responded, unable to hide the quiver in his voice.

"Sit down," Sam ordered, pointing at a chair across from Dean. "We've got some questions for you."

"I don't know nothin'. I just fix the fences."

"Bullshit." Dean rose to his feet as he half-shouted the word, and Walker jumped at the sound. "You used to be joined at the hip with Tanner. Then I get shot at, and suddenly all you do around here is ride fences. What happened, Walker? Tanner get pissed when you accidentally shot Miss Dalton?"

Walker took off his hat, rubbing over his thinning hair nervously. "No, sir. I never shot at nobody. That was Tad Smith, not me. I didn't have nothin' to do with that."

Dean leaned against a nearby wall, his arms folded over his chest. "Uh-huh."

"Sheriff, I'm tellin' the truth! I didn't shoot at you! It was Smith, and Tanner..." Walker's voice was shaking, and he stopped for a moment. "Tanner killed him. I saw it. Cut his throat. Then he made me take him out and bury him. He ain't let me near the house since that night."

Dean lowered his chin to his chest, leveling a stare Walker's direction. "What else have you seen Tanner do?" The man's eyes widened a little, and he began to shake his head.

"No. If I... No. He'll kill me." He jumped, fear in his eyes, as Dean slammed both palms down on the table, glaring down at him.

"And what do you think I'll do if you don't talk?"

"But... but... but you're the law."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, I never was good with rules."

"I think you'd better answer the question." Sam spoke softly, standing right behind Walker, and the terrified man froze, on the edge of an all-out breakdown. "He killed those kids," he whispered. "He killed 'em, and he took their blood, and he does things with it. Puts it in a bowl with some other stuff and says words over it. One time... one time I saw him conjure up a spirit, and another time... I swear he... he..." Walker looked up at Dean, his eyes wide. "Sheriff, I swear to God - there was two of him."

They went over everything they'd learned about Tanner's place that night at the Sheriff's office, making plans to enter the property from the back and cut their way through the fence that surrounded the house. The only men they'd have to deal with there would be the brainless muscle Tanner had posted at the house, and once they were taken care of, they'd have half a chance to get near enough to see what was going on. Dean frowned down at their makeshift map as Sam spoke softly. "Do you think he's duplicating himself? Making a doppelganger to give himself an alibi?"

"One way to keep himself out of trouble, I guess. I hope Walker takes our advice and gets the hell out of there before Tanner finds out he talked. Doesn't sound like he'd take that too well," Dean answered, still focused on the paper in front of him.

"What do we do once we get in, Dean? We don't have a clue how to undo the spells."

Dean sighed, straightening up to stretch his arms over his head. "I don't know, Sammy. Usually we burn the hex bag, and that's it. But he's using blood spells, binding things to himself. The only way to end that might be to kill him."

Sam stared into his brother's eyes for a moment, then finally nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"I know according to history that's gonna fuck up Wyoming politics, but there's nothing we can do about it. We just have to hope it doesn't mess up the future too bad." He looked at Sam, shaking his head. "Time travel, man."

"Yeah." Sam chewed his lip for a moment before speaking again softly. "Dean, you know when this is over... We have to leave. You're gonna have to leave her. Are you ready for that?" He watched as his older brother's jaw worked, ready for the glare that was aimed his way next.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Dean looked back down at the table, and Sam took a deep breath, opting to stay silent. "Cas needs to know what's going on. Just in case. Maybe you should take care of that and stop fuckin' mothering me." The quiet tone of his voice belied his words, and Sam put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a rough pat before he headed outside.

The next morning they headed into the Silver Birch for breakfast, neither of them really hungry, but there was a lot of time to kill before dark. Dean went to the kitchen to get their food, letting Griz know that Callie was unhurt, and the old man almost teared up at the news. "Thanks, Sheriff. I was gettin' mighty worried. And Smitty, here... well, he's been drivin' me 'bout crazy." Dean smiled, grabbing their plates and heading back out to the saloon. Smitty followed with two cups of coffee, and they ate in relative silence for most of the meal.

The day seemed to last an eternity. Dean's guns were gleaming, Sam swore to himself that even the bullets had been polished, and the edge of his knife could split a hair. Sam had gone over their hand-drawn map so many times the lines were blurred, trying to fine-tune their plan, sketchy as it was. But it was the best they had, their one shot at taking Tanner down.


	9. Chapter 9

They dismounted a good distance away from Tanner's property, tethering the horses and stripping themselves of any gear that might get in their way. Dean stuck his badge into the saddlebag, not wanting to catch a reflection to alert Tanner's goons to their presence before they were ready. The moon was bright, both a blessing and a curse, and they took off at an easy run towards the rear of the big ranch house, hoping neither of the guards posted would see them approaching.

Sam made quick work of the barbed wire fence surrounding the property as Dean kept a watchful eye out, and then they were completely out in the open, the vast expanse of that section of the property treeless and flat. Dean breathed a little sigh of relief when they finally came up against the rail fence surrounding the house yard without being spotted by any of Tanner's men.

Dean vaulted over the fence first, making his way up against the back of the house and peering around the corner before waving Sam over. They stayed close to the building, and Dean looked carefully into the brightly lit kitchen as they came to a window, but the cook was the only one present, head bent to her task at the counter facing away from their position. They quickly moved on, going around the corner of the structure, and moving a few yards before Dean stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. He turned to Sam, a little smile on his lips, pointing to the cellar door in front of him. It was padlocked, but Dean had the lock picked in seconds, removing it from the hasp. Praying for well-greased hinges, he slowly pulled the door open.

Sam pulled his little flashlight from his pocket, shining it down the stairs, leading the way into the cellar, and Dean followed, pulling the door back shut as they descended. It was cool and dark, the walls and floor made of stone, and they stood still for a moment as Sam played the light over the room, allowing them to get their bearings. Deans brow furrowed as he heard a sound, and Sam turned to meet his gaze, pointing to a door at the far end of the small room. Dean nodded, then followed, and then stood outside the door, listening intently.

A soft sob reached their ears, and Dean nodded at his brother. Sam shut off the flashlight, allowing them to see the faint light from under the door. Sam took a step back, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans, and Dean held his pistol in his right hand as he reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly, blowing out the breath he'd been holding as he realized it wasn't locked. He cracked it open just a hair's breadth at a time, trying carefully to see inside. Sam watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing softly under his breath. "What, Dean?" he whispered, and Dean turned his head slightly to look at him over his shoulder.

"Emily. He's got Emily."

"Fuck." Dean eased the door open a little farther, then stepped one foot inside, leaning in to check for Tanner's men. Emily raised her head at the movement, her eyes growing wide, and Dean put a finger to his lips, shaking his head as she opened her mouth to speak. She nodded in understanding, a tear slipping down her cheek as she hugged her arms to herself, crouching in the center of her cage, watching as he very slowly entered the room.

Another cage sat empty along the wall next to Emily's, but nothing else was in the room. Sam stopped near the frightened girl, quietly speaking to her as Dean continued through the room, flattening himself against the wall next to the open door at the far end. He leaned in, quickly scanning the area, then back against the wall, and Sam joined him on the opposite side of the door. Sam repeated Dean's actions, then nodded, and Dean stepped slowly into the room, Sam on his heels.

The room was empty, the only furnishing a large mahogany table in the middle of the room and a bookshelf loaded down with what appeared to be bottles of herbs and powders, various containers, and a variety of other strange items that seemed suitable for use in witchcraft.

"I knew it," Dean muttered under his breath, his lip curled in disgust. "Fucking witches."

Sam held a finger to his lips, then gestured to the next room, where a low murmur of voices was growing louder. They flattened themselves against the walls on either side of the doorway, and heard the door to the next room open, Callie's voice cheerfully chatting. "I thought we'd use our sitting room for the wedding, what do you think, Charles?"

"I think that would be perfect, my darling. Now please sit and be patient while I take care of some business, all right?"

"Of course, Charles." She was silent for a moment, then Dean heard her say, "Hello, Chuck. Are you quite comfortable in there?"

The sound of a man clearing his throat preceded his raspy voice as he answered. "Oh, yes. I'm... I'm fine."

"Now, Calliope, I asked you not to talk to him. He's been very bad. He's being punished."

"I'm sorry, Charles. He just looks - sad."

They heard a muffled sob, the broken man's voice pleading. "Please, Granddad. I promise I'll stay put, I promise I'll do what you say, just... Please, let me out of here." Dean's eyes were wide with shock as Sam looked his way, an identical expression on his face. There was a loud 'thud,' and a whimper of pain. "Charles. I mean Charles. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Shut up, Chuck. You were a sniveling brat as a child, and you're still a sniveling brat. Not fit to be the head of the Tanner family, not fit to run our business holdings, and certainly not man enough to be married to Calliope. She needs a real man to take care of her, don't you, my dear?"

"Yes, Charles," she answered, compliant and sweet, and Dean ground his teeth together.

"All I need is the blood of that little virgin in there, Chuck, and your youth and Calliope will be mine permanently. Then you can live in that little room at the top of the stairs where I spent the last few years, with a nurse to take care of you, just like I had. But I will make sure that you are bedridden and unable to speak, because I intend to live out the rest of your life for you, you worthless pup."

Dean motioned Sam to follow as he carefully made his way back to the room where Emily was being held, whispering to him as they went through the door and against the wall. "Sammy, get her out of here. Take her to the horses, get her the hell out of here. Then get your ass back in here and help me kill this son of a bitch."

Sam nodded, peering around the doorway and heading for Emily's cage, pulling his lockpick from his pocket. Dean kept watch, cringing as Sam carefully pulled the cage door open with a squeak, but there was no reaction from Tanner. Sam whispered softly to the girl, taking her hand and aiding her in standing up, putting a supporting arm around her and leading her towards the cellar door. Dean backed his way across the room, eyes always on the door to the next room, then helped Sam hold open the door as he led Emily out into the yard.

Dean lowered the cellar door, then retraced his steps, stopping dead in his tracks as he came through the door, the barrel of a gun in his back. His jaw clenched, his eyes closed with frustration for a moment, then he glanced back at Tanner's hired man before looking into the arrogant face of Charles Tanner, who was standing before him with a shotgun held loosely in one hand. He tilted his head, looking Dean over disdainfully. "Well, I don't suppose you're a virgin," he growled sarcastically. Then he slammed the butt of the shotgun into Dean's head, dropping him like a stone to the floor.

Sam helped Emily to the back of his horse, looking up at her as she settled into the saddle. "You sure you can find your way?" he whispered, and she nodded. "Okay. Get back to town, send your dad and Smitty and whoever else wants to come, in case we need help. Just get yourself safe, and stay with Griz, okay?" The girl nodded, her eyes determined, and she clutched the reins tight as she kicked her heels lightly into the horse's flanks, sending it off into a slow canter, then picking up speed as she cleared the trees. Sam took off on a dead run back towards the house, vaulting the fence and making his way around to the cellar door. He pulled up short as he saw the newly-chained and locked hasp, and he whispered a quiet curse. They had Dean.

* * *

Dean woke slowly, groaning at the pounding in his head. Everything hurt as he tried to move, his hands encountering the cold stone floor as he attempted to push himself upright. He opened his eyes, squinting at the pain as he sat up, taking in his surroundings with a resigned sigh. He was in a cage. He lifted a hand to his head, not surprised to bring it away wet with blood. "Son of a bitch," he grunted, leaning back against the wall side of his prison as he fought to get his bearings.

"You okay, Sheriff?"

He turned his head carefully, still trying to focus, answering the soft whisper with one of his own. "Chuck?"

"Yeah. It's me. Believe it or not." Dean stared at him, his vision slowly clearing enough to make out an elderly face gazing through the bars of the neighboring cage.

Your grandfather did this to you?" Chuck nodded, and Dean winced as he tried to clear his head a little. "Where's Callie?"

Chuck gestured towards the next room. "He drugged her. Took her in there. Said he's not gonna hurt her, but you and me, that's a different story."

"Yeah. I think Sam and I kinda pissed him off. Stole his virgin right out from under him. At least maybe it'll slow him down."

"Don't bet on it, Sheriff." Tanner smirked as he entered the room, setting a black bowl at the center of the floor. He struck a match and dropped it into the herbs inside the bowl, his other hand gripping a bag that hung around his neck on a rawhide cord. He chanted softly as the smoke rose to the ceiling, and Dean watched as the spirit of the native shaman materialized in front of Tanner, going to one knee and bowing its head before its master. "Find that girl. Bring her back to me. Go," Tanner commanded, and the spirit stood, then faded from their sight.


	10. Chapter 10

"I gotta say, you're pretty creative when it comes to picking up women, Tanner." Dean ignored the glare that was aimed his way as he continued. "Me, I usually just flirt a little, maybe tell them I like their dress, send a few compliments their way. But I guess you need a little extra boost, so you just, I don't know, steal your grandson's youth and sacrifice innocent children so you can put a fucking spell on them, since that's the only way you can get one to put up with your ugly ass." He glanced over at Chuck, looking a little rueful. "Sorry, dude."

"You must think I'm a complete idiot if you think I'm going to let you goad me into letting you out of that cage, Winchester," Tanner growled, his face flushing even darker at the 'yeah, you're probably right' smirk and shrug Dean sent back his way. "By dawn tomorrow, I'll have everything I want, and you'll be dead. Then we'll see who's an idiot, Sheriff."

Tanner stalked from the room, and Dean sat up, digging a hand deep into his pocket. "He took your lock pick, Sheriff," Chuck said softly, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah, I know. But I've got a piece of wire in my pocket that he might have missed." A slight expression of relief crossed his face as he captured the paper clip between his fingers. "Chuck, do me a favor and let me know if you see him head this way?"

Chuck nodded, moving slightly to the left to keep the approach to the doorway in his sight. Dean moved closer to the door of his prison, reaching his hands through the bars with the improvised tool. He began probing the lock carefully, glancing often at Chuck, who had his eyes glued to the doorway. He was finally rewarded with a soft click, and eased the cage door open at a glacial pace, afraid of making noise.

When he finally inched it open far enough to crawl out, he moved to Chuck's cage. "Keep watching," he urged as he worked on the lock to his cage. When he heard it give, he blew out a relieved breath, then spoke softly to his fellow captive. "Chuck, I'll leave this up to you, I'm not about to tell you that you can't leave right now. But I think it might be wise to leave you in here, just in case we need you to surprise him. Sam and I might need a hand."

Chuck glanced at Dean, still keeping his eyes focused on the next room as he held out his hand. "I'll stay." Dean took his hand and shook it firmly, and Chuck whispered, "Now get outta here. I'll make a racket like you shoved me or something, and yell that you're getting away. Just look out for Ernie, he's probably at the top of the stairs."

Dean was almost at there when he heard Chuck throw himself at the side of the cage, then yell for Tanner. "Charles! He's gettin' away!"

The door at the top of the stairs began to open, and Dean stood flat against the wall until Ernie was in the doorway, then launched himself at the man, knocking the gun from his hands. He punched him in the face until his head rolled to the side and his eyes closed. Then he shoved his unconscious body out of the way and closed the door, grabbing a nearby chair to wedge under the handle before grabbing Ernie's gun and sprinting for the front door.

"Sam!" he said sharply, not too loud, and he heard an answering, "Dean!" from just around the corner of the building.

"How'd you get out?"

"Paper clip. Picked the cage lock. Chuck's is open, too, so if we need him - not sure what kind of shape he's in, but..."

"Yeah, I sent Emily to town on my horse, told her to send anybody that wanted to help."

Dean swallowed hard, sticking Ernie's gun in the back of his jeans. "Yeah. Tanner just sent that spirit after her. To bring her back. I hope she gets safe."

Sam swore softly. "Should have just kept her here."

Dean shook his head. "No. You did the right thing. We'll be here to protect her if it gets her. Now we gotta get back in there, I knocked Ernie out, but I don't know for how long. Let's get him locked down, and then... I guess we just go for it - all in, balls out. Unless you've got a better idea?"

Sam shook his head. "I wish. But no, I don't."

It didn't take them long to get Ernie incapacitated, using cords from the drapes, and they dumped him unceremoniously into a hall closet. Dean checked Ernie's gun, making sure it was loaded and ready, and then nodded as Sam carefully removed the chair from under the cellar stairway door. They opened it slowly, listening for any noises from below, but it was silent, almost eerie.

Dean looked at Sam for a second, then blew out a tense breath and started down the stairs. Sam scanned the room behind him, then followed close behind. Dean hunkered down by Chuck's cage, whispering softly. "They didn't even come after me?"

Chuck shook his head. "Tanner said Ernie'd take care of you. He didn't seem worried." Dean's attention shifted quickly as a commotion broke out in the next room, and Sam scrambled to position himself beside the door.

"Fuck," Dean swore quietly as he heard Emily's muffled scream, then sobs, the sounds of a violent struggle before Tanner's harsh shout cut sharply through the chaos.

"Stop fighting, or I'll send him after your father." Emily was sobbing, and Sam looked to his brother, waiting for his signal. Dean's jaw was clenched, murder in his eyes, and Sam readied his gun as Dean nodded. They burst into the room together, Dean shooting Tanner's other henchman in the chest as the man went for his gun. He dropped like a sack of wet sand to the stone floor, and Dean turned his gun to Tanner, who stood with a knife to Emily's throat. "Remember what I said, little girl," Tanner growled into her ear, and she stared at Dean, her eyes pleading.

"Let her go, you asshole," Dean growled, and Sam cried out a warning as Tanner laughed. Dean flew back against the wall, the force making his ears ring, his gun flying from his hand.

"Did you forget about my friend here? I don't need those useless clods to watch my back. I just call on my spirit slave and he takes care of all the heavy lifting."

The ghost of the shaman was advancing on Dean, and Sam shouted as he took a step that direction, only to be tossed effortlessly across the room with a wave of the spectre's hand. He landed next to Callie, who was still unconscious, slumped in the corner. He moaned as he moved, reaching his hand to check her pulse, letting out a little breath of relief at the steady beat beneath his fingers - that was one less thing to worry about. Tanner was busy strapping Emily to the heavy wood table, the poor girl too terrified to do more than struggle weakly against the restraints.

Sam was mentally kicking himself for not thinking to grab the fireplace poker from upstairs, stumbling to his feet as the shaman lifted Dean from the floor, it's bony hand around his brother's throat. Dean's face was turning red, his tongue protruding, his eyes bulging and panicked as Sam charged towards them, hoping at least to loosen the creature's grip.

He dived towards them, his momentum allowing him to tackle Dean to the floor as the spirit disappeared, rematerializing to stand over them in a matter of moments, reaching towards them again. Then a movement from the doorway caught Sam's eye, and he watched as Chuck burst into the room, heading straight for his grandfather. Emily squealed in fright as the men struggled above her, Chuck holding on to Charles with a grip on his coat. "You useless, spineless little worm," he growled as Chuck was sent sprawling on his back on the floor. "You think you can fight me? I have powers that you've never even dreamed of, you worthless bastard!"

Chuck glared up at the younger-appearing man, a sneer of pure hatred distorting his features. "I may not be able to fight you, Granddaddy. But he can." His eyes glittered as he held up a rawhide cord, broken from Charles' neck in the fight, the little deerskin bag still attached. Sam watched, eyes wide, as the shaman turned from them, looking to Chuck. Dean was still choking, his hand clutching his throat, as Sam helped him to his feet, watching as Chuck held up the bag and Charles felt frantically around his chest for the talisman.

"No! You serve me! I am your master!" he shouted as the spirit of the shaman turned towards him and advanced, its face no longer stoic, a fierce snarl on its shimmering visage as it disappeared, then appeared right in front of the now-terrified man, lifting him from the floor in its bony grasp. Sam staggered to Emily's side, untying her and picking her up like a child as she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

Charles was making horrifying, strangled noises, his gaze drifting to his grandson, still on the floor, the bag gripped tightly in his fist. As the life faded from the elder Tanner's eyes, Chuck gasped sharply, and Dean watched, wide-eyed, as the man's face shifted and changed from that of an elderly man to a man in his thirties. As Charles breathed his last, he took on his real appearance, a wizened, shrunken old man, crumpling to the floor as the spirit finally released him.

"Chuck..." Dean managed to croak out as the shaman approached his new master. Chuck rose slowly to his feet as the spirit began to kneel before him.

"No. Don't bow to me. Here, take this. You are no longer bound to this earth." He held out his hand to the spirit, the bag in his palm. The shaman rose silently, taking it into its bony hand before raising its head proudly, clenching a fist to pound soundlessly to its chest and then raising its hand in salute before fading away.

Dean moved quickly over to Callie, feeling for her pulse just as Sam had, closing his eyes with relief as he let his head hang for a moment. Then he stood, lifting her limp body in his arms, turning to Chuck. "Let's get them upstairs, at least, somewhere comfortable." Chuck nodded, throwing one last glance towards the shriveled remains of his grandfather as he led them all to the stairs.

* * *

Sam stood in Chuck's living room, watching the man feed the roaring blaze in the fireplace. Container after container of spell ingredients had gone up in flames already, and the spell book his grandfather had used to bring destruction and desolation to so many people was in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment, whispering, "Never again," as he tossed it into the fire. It smoldered for a few long moments, then burst into colorful flame, sending a shower of bright sparks up the chimney. He spoke softly to Sam, watching the book be consumed. "I know you said your friend could use that information to help fight other evil, but I just couldn't let it survive in this world. I hope you understand, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, Chuck. I do."

"I still can't believe he was planning this all that time. That he had Callie's husband killed, trying to nudge us together just for the sake of their property, for the railroad rights. And once he saw her, he decided he wanted her for himself, so then I was just - expendable. I was just a way for him to be young again, to get his hands on more money and power and..." He turned a mournful look towards Sam. "His own grandson."

"I'm sorry." Sam put a hand on the man's shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. "Now it's all up to you, to turn things around. Run the Tanner holdings like they should be run. I think you've got a good future ahead, Chuck, now that he's not there to twist everything." Chuck nodded, a brief smile flashing across his face before turning back to the fire. "Well, best of luck. My brother and I will be leaving tomorrow, and we probably won't be back this way any time soon. So take care."

Chuck turned to shake Sam's hand, gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Deputy." Sam nodded in response, then shoved his hat on his head and headed for the door.

* * *

Dean stood in Callie's kitchen, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, appreciating the aroma of the coffee that was beginning to fill the room. Callie had gone into her room to clean up and change, their wagon trip to her ranch mostly quiet. What conversation there was had been stilted, awkward, and Dean felt out of place there, like he didn't belong. "Well, you don't belong," he mentally berated himself, his jaw working as he walked to the window, looking out over the darkening yard.

"That feels better." He heard her voice behind him, and turned to smile at her, standing near her bedroom door, smoothing her hands down over the skirt of her dress, a soft sage cotton. "The coffee should be ready."

He came to the table, accepting a steaming mug from her, cringing a little at the brush of her fingers against his. She stood looking down at him for a moment before getting a cup for herself and sitting down at the table with him. "Dean..." She started to speak, but a catch in her throat made her stop and look away. She looked back as she felt his hand cover hers, and the guilt and sadness in his green eyes wrenched at her heart. "Please don't look at me like that," she whispered, and he hung his head, looking down at their hands as he turned his over, holding her much smaller one, his thumb rubbing gently over her fingers.

"I'm sorry, I just..." he started, but she interrupted him, pulling her hand away.

"I'm not! I will never be sorry for what's happened between us, Dean. Stop feeling guilty about it. Stop acting like you took something I didn't want to give." She took a breath, almost a sob, as her eyes filled with tears. "You have given me so much. I feel alive again, Dean. I have hope and faith again. I'm me again. Not just the shell, going through the motions, but really me. You gave that back to me. Don't be sorry for that. Don't cheapen it by being sorry." She almost angrily backhanded a tear from her cheek, looking into his pain-filled eyes. And then she was on his lap, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder as they clung to each other.

She raised her head, leaning in to kiss him, but he turned away slightly, refusing to meet her eyes. Callie took his chin in her hand, forcing him to turn towards her as she spoke softly. "Dean. I understand. I know you have to leave." She drew closer, her lips brushing over his as she continued. "Just, please... let's say goodbye."

A low groan came from the depths of his chest as he crushed her to him in a desperate kiss, tongues gliding against each other as he splayed his hand across her back, the other hand tangled in her hair. Small mewling noises left her lips as she pressed herself against him, reckless and wild, her fingers in his hair and gripping at his shoulder.

He stood, sweeping her into his arms, still kissing her as they made their way back to her room. He continued kissing her as his fingers deftly unfastened the buttons at the back of her dress, then slid inside to caress the soft skin at the back of her shoulders, slipping it off and letting it billow around her feet.

He finally drew back from her, his tongue playing over his lips, reaching for the ties of her chemise, his eyes lingering on every inch of her from the top of her head on down, memorizing every curve and line. When she finally stood naked before him, he reached out a hand to help her step out of the clothing piled around her feet. Then she ran her hands over his chest before doing the same, removing his clothes piece by piece, her eyes constantly roaming over every inch of him, commiting him to memory. "Make love to me, Dean," she whispered, reaching for his hand, leading him to the bed. She sat down, and he closed his eyes as she stroked her fingers over his length, then moved onto the bed, lying back as he stared down at her, his eyes roaming over her body before he climbed up beside her.

He worshipped her with his eyes and fingertips, his hands gliding over her skin, stroking over every inch of her like a blind man seeing with his hands. She laid there, her breathing growing harsh, as he touched her, and when he finally urged her thighs apart, stroking over her, she shuddered, overcome. He moaned at the feel of her slick heat as he pushed first one finger, then two, inside her, bending to run his tongue around her nipple, sucking at it as he curled his fingers, petting at her walls until she writhed beneath him. "Promise me you'll find a man who treats you this way, Callie. Promise me you won't settle for someone who doesn't want to make you feel like this," he murmured against her skin, kissing his way over her breasts, her shoulders, her neck.

She moaned helplessly, then cried out softly as he rubbed his thumb over her swollen bundle of nerves, watching her come undone, trembling and grasping at his arm and the sheets, her head tossing on the pillow, her full lips parted as she gasped his name.

He captured her lips with his again, still moving his fingers in and around her, feeling himself jump with a surge of arousal at her ardent sigh. He brought her to another climax, swift and hard, then gently moved his fingers from her and pulled her to her side, pressing their bodies closer, yet never close enough.

Callie came back to herself enough, finally, to push Dean to his back, still kissing him hungrily. She raised herself up slightly, looking at him with such heat that he felt his cock twitch in response, and then he gave himself over to the sensations she sent coursing through him. She kissed every part of him that she could reach, her soft hands moving over his body, caressing every bulge and dip of his muscled frame. When she bent to kiss his thigh, her silken curls dragging over his erection, he moaned, almost losing himself in that moment. She didn't take him into her mouth, but kissed along his length, her tongue darting out to taste him along the way, and she licked over the throbbing head slowly, making him groan and buck up beneath her in spite of his attempt to control his body. That was the end of his restraint, and he reached for her, pulling her atop him and kissing her fiercely, grinding against her, his need driving him almost crazy. "Callie..." He stopped to grunt softly as she brushed over his nipple with the tip of her nail, then grasped her by the thighs, settling her on top of him, moaning at the slick feel of her gliding over him. "Baby, I need to be inside you. Now." He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, then guided her onto him, swearing softly as he slowly slipped inside her, encased in her slick velvet grip. She was tight, and hot, and the sounds she was making nearly ended him.

She began to move on him, around him, gyrating her hips, grinding herself down on him, looking down at him through the waterfall of her auburn hair, and he watched her, mesmerized. When he found himself to the point of losing control, he tightened his grip on her hips, stopping her, then moved her from him, laying her on her back.

He kissed her, his hand gently kneading at her breast, for a few minutes, until the almost irresistible urge to drive hard into her left him. Then he guided himself back home, pushing slowly in to the limit, holding still until she squirmed beneath him with a soft whimper. He began to thrust, a sensual dance between them, their movements perfectly synchronized, the room filled with their sighs and moans of pleasure. She came again, gently, eternally, wave after wave of glorious elation washing over her, and when he joined her with a few fast, hard thrusts at the end, he thought he would never stop. They laid there, aftershock after aftershock washing over them as he kissed her, slow and langourous, wanting the feelings to last forever.

* * *

The morning was chilly and grey as Dean and Sam stood outside the Silver Birch, a small crowd of people gathered there to say goodbye. Samuel Colt thanked them for coming, and his wife hugged them both, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to each of their cheeks before stepping back. Griz and Smitty both shook hands, ducking their heads to hide their emotions, and Dean looked them both in the eye. "You watch out for Miss Callie, all right?" They nodded, and Smitty rubbed the back of his hand under his nose, sniffing, as he turned away. Emily and her father both thanked them, and they each dropped a kiss on top of her head before turning to Chuck and Callie.

Chuck shook both of their hands heartily, saying a simple "Thank you" before turning to go inside, leaving them with Callie. Sam hugged her tight, then smiled at her thanks before turning and heading for their horses, leaving Dean relatively alone with her to say their goodbyes.

"I won't say it, Dean," she said softly as he took both her hands in his. "I can't. Just... thank you for everything. Stay safe. And know that you're always welcome here."

Her eyes sparkled with tears as she looked up at him, and he pulled her close, holding her for a long minute before stepping back, bending to kiss her gently once, then again, lingering. He squeezed her hand as he moved back, gazing into her face one last time, swallowing hard before whispering, "Goodbye, Callie." Then he turned to join Sam, swinging up onto his horse and shoving his hat down onto his head a little tighter, riding down the street at a walk, then a canter, never looking back to see the tears spill down her cheeks.

* * *

They sat around the table, whiskey in hand, finishing up the story with Bobby. "So he had the Shoshone's medicine bag, had a hold over it that way?"

"Yeah. Conjured it up by using it, and kept it tied to him. Until Chuck ripped that bag away from him, and Charles got what he deserved. Ugly way to go, though," Sam said somberly, and Bobby nodded in agreement. Dean sat sprawled back in his chair, staring into space, his fingers absently turning his glass back and forth. Bobby sent a concerned glance Sam's way before speaking quietly.

"You okay, son?" He looked at Dean until it sank in that it was him Bobby was talking to, then smiled absently, downing his drink.

"Yeah. M'okay. Just tired. Time travel, man."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. By the way, checked the history books after you two got back this morning. Turns out that Tanner was still a governor in Wyoming. So I guess it all turned out the way it was supposed to, huh?"

Dean's smile was a little tight as he pushed back from the table, reaching for the bottle and refilling his glass. "Yeah. Just like it was supposed to. G'night, Bobby. Sam. I'm beat." He turned to head up the stairs, Bobby watching for a bit before turning his eyes on Sam.

"Is he okay?"

Sam sighed, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, Bobby. He'll be okay. As okay as he ever gets to be." Then he leaned back in his chair, and the two men sipped at their drinks, each lost in his own thoughts.


End file.
